Simply to Solve a Case
by NCCJFAN
Summary: Removed from homicide and bumped to narcotics, Woody finds himself working feverishly on a case in order to be restored to homicide. The solutions lie with Jordan's forensics. But putting the case together ends up with them a position they'd never dream
1. I'm Moving On

**Disclaimer: Don't own any of them. Wish I did. I'd slap some sense into Woody.**

**Chapter One**

**I'm Moving On**

It had been a long year. _Longer than most, but still not long enough_, Jordan mused as she sat in front of her make up mirror and brushed out her long hair. Exaclty three hundred and sixty-five days had passed since Woody had been shot. Ten months since he had regained use of his legs. Nine months since he had returned to work with the Boston PD.

Not that she was counting or anything.

Sighing, she realized that she had forfeited that privilege the day he had kicked her out of his hospital room…even if she didn't cognitively digest it until the day he told her he was getting all the toxins out of his system…and had given her a pointed look so that she would have no doubt that he was also referring to her. She was poison. And he wanted her gone.

He was, as he had sworn to her, going to move on. And he did. Due to his increasing "anger issues," the Captain of the police department had moved Woody from homicide to narcotics until Woody could get his emotions under control and deal with his injuries…as well as the person who had injured him.

At times, Jordan wasn't sure if this was Riggs or herself. She felt that for some reason, Woody blamed the entire event on her.

So now the man who still made her heart do flips and her knees grow weak no longer came to the morgue. As a matter of fact, from the gossip that Jordan could catch through the police department's grapevine, Woody was deep undercover with his new department, hoping not only to conquer whatever "anger issues" he had, but also curry enough favor that the Captain would allow him back into homicide.

All Jordan knew was that she hadn't seen Woody for six months. She prayed nightly for his safety before she went to sleep.

And for a while, those nightly prayers were followed with nightly dreams of him and her…running together…working together…making love together. But as the weeks passed and even the memory of his scent grew weaker, her dreams of him and them came less frequently.

Until finally, one week, they didn't come at all. Jordan believed that on some unconscious level, maybe her heart was really over him. Maybe whatever they had was really over. Maybe it was now time for _her_ to move on.

Which brought her back to her hair and make up. She was going out tonight. Nigel and Bug, Lily and Seeley, and an assorted group of friends were going out. Dinner. Dancing. Fun.

She swallowed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. It had been a long time since she had done anything for fun. It pained her to remember that for four years, most of her "fun" memories had been with Woody. And even then, they held a bitter sweetness to them as both she and Woody were dealing with their inner demons as well as trying to define their relationship.

But no more. She put down her hair brush with a determined bang. She had been in contact with Danny McCoy during the past several weeks as her dreams of Woody had subsided. While a few months ago, she had shied away from "cheap, meaningless sex," she had sent signals to the casino security officer that she was now ready for something more….They had become good friends. Danny had let it be known he was simply waiting on Jordan to make the first move. He would meet her more than half way.

She gazed at herself in the mirror. She hadn't worn that red dress in a long time. Two years at least. The opportunity never arose. _I need to start making more opportunities for myself_, she thought. _It's the only way I will ever truly get on with my life…_ She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

If a good time was to be discovered tonight, she'd find it. If moving on had to be done, she'd lace up her running shoes.

And Woody was to be forgotten.

But not forgiven.

* * *

"Sorry we had to call you in, Dr. C., but with Dr. Macy out of town, the responding detective asked for you," Emmy said as Jordan entered the morgue later on that night. Jordan pushed down the irritation of being called in when she wasn't on rotation and tried to asses the situation at hand. She really wanted to be done with whatever the hell and whoever the hell it was that had her called in as quickly as possible and get back to the dance club.

"He asked for me directly?" she inquired, unlocking her office and setting her purse and keys on her desk.

"Yes, he did."

"Why? Surely Sydney could have handled anything -- and any body -- that was thrown his way."

"That's what he says," Emmy said, trying her best to keep a smirk off her face. "But when the detective found out you were the answering ME on a similar case last week, he requested you to examine the body he brought in."

Jordan sighed and pulled her hair back into a sloppy bun. About the time she was just beginning to really unwind and relax, her cell phone had gone off. She had ignored it for a while, until the persistent vibrations from device was causing her pocketbook to shake like it was a thing possessed. When she finally answered, Emmy was insistent that she come in, despite Jordan's well-founded protests that she was "off of work and not on call, damn it."

Whoever this dick-head detective was, her viable excuse wasn't holding much credence with him. Turning to Emmy before she disappeared into the locker room to put on her scrubs, Jordan asked, "And just who is the answering asshole detective on this case?"

"I am," came a calm voice from her door way. "I'm your asshole…guilty as charged."

Jordan swallowed. There, leaning against her doorway, with an air of cockiness and cold confidence still wreathed around him, was Woody. "Good evening, Jordan." He looked her over from head to toe, his eyes taking in the amount of skin and curves that the red dress revealed…the same dress she had worn with him on the Sickboy case… "Sorry to have … interrupted your evening," he finished on something akin to a sneer.

"Not as sorry as I am to be interrupted," Jordan shot back, determined not to let him gain any emotional or professional ground. "Let me change into my scrubs and I'll be with you in a minute. Then maybe I can get back to my evening…sans interruptions from you …as quickly as possible.


	2. Don’t Mess This Up

**Chapter Two**

**Don't Mess This Up**

Jordan stood for a minute with her back leaning against the door of the women's locker room, trying to slow down her rapidly beating heart and her quick breathing. As far as she had known, Woody was still undercover in narcotics. She was shocked to see him show up at the morgue.

She was even more upset at herself…that her knees went weak, her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry when she saw him again. In the back of her mind, when she received Emmy's phone call about someone who was insisting that she come into the morgue, she had partially assumed it was Danny. It would be like Danny McCoy to raise a fuss when he couldn't find her and she wouldn't answer her cell phone. The signals she had been sending him were pretty strong ones. She had hoped he had got tired of waiting on her and initiated the first step in their relationship himself. The idea of spending an evening…or several evenings…wrapped in his strong arms was more than appealing…it was down right seductive.

Instead, leaning against her door, she had found that her past was back to bite her in the ass. Woody.

She stripped off her dress and hung it in her locker and grabbed a fresh pair of scrubs. With a little luck and good timing, she'd be retrieving the dress and returning the club within the hour. It wasn't until Jordan began to put on her shirt that she realized she had no bra. The dress didn't need one. Gamely she looked at herself in the mirror. By the time she put the smock on over the scrub top, maybe she'd be okay. She pushed her way out the door, arms crossed in front of her, just in case.

"Took you long enough," his voice from inside trace responded to the creak of her opening the door.

Quickly she reached for a smock and put it on. "It took me a while to get out of the dress," she began to explain, until it hit her that she really didn't have to offer Woody an excuse for anything. She was there on her own time. She could tell him to go to hell.

And maybe she should.

Pulling her face shield down, she began a cursory examination of the body. The foaming at the mouth strongly indicated to her that this was a drug overdose….but the collapsed larynx indicated something more. Running a tube down the throat, she flipped on the computer screen. "Care to tell me what I might be looking for?" she asked

"Just tell me what you find…" was all Woody replied as he sat and watched her, stone-faced, not giving an inch.

_Okay, you cocky son-of-a-bitch_, Jordan thought as she began to run preliminary tox screens. _If you want to play that game, I can, too. And you have no idea who you're dealing with now…"_

"It's an obvious drug overdose, Woody…." She began.

"No, it's not," he interrupted, his voice still coldly professional and aloof.

"I know that. It's an overdose, but not a lethal one," she continued. "Do you want to do the autopsy? I'll be glad to let you. I've got something else I'd much rather be doing tonight."

"I'm sure you do," he responded. "However, if the records are accurate, you also did an autopsy similar to this last week…drug overdose, but the larynx was collapsed. What did you find?"

Jordan sighed and looked at the initial tox reports coming out of the computer. "The same thing I found here. Heroin cut with poison…probably Strychnine."

Woody nodded. Lowering his voice for emphasis, he looked Jordan in the eyes. "Have you done any other similar autopsies in the last six months?"

She shook her head. "No. Believe me, I would remember something like this…"

"What's the differences between this overdose and the autopsy of the overdose victim you did last week?"

"A lot actually," said Nigel's voice coming through the doors. When Jordan didn't return to the club in a few minutes, he decided to call Emmy and see what was up at the morgue. When Emmy had told him in a worried voice that Woody was there and requesting Jordan, Nigel had decided to high-tail it in and give her hand…at either getting done quickly with whatever Woody was bringing in, or kicking him out of the morgue. He had assumed the detective was there to make trouble for Jordan one more time…to hurt her again in some way…He had no idea Woody would be bringing in another body with another set of riddles.

"Like what?" Woody now turned his attention to Nigel, glad to have someone to talk to other than Jordan.

"The guy brought in last week appeared to be ill-kept and homeless. As unfortunate as it is, it's not unusual to find that homeless people with a heroin addiction will dilute their fixes with something to make the drugs last longer…"

"But how often do they cut it with Strychnine?" Woody asked, his voice still hanging on to that air of arrogance and know-it-all attitude.

"They generally cut it with whatever they can get their hands on, mate. They're not known for reading warning labels."

"So you put that death down to a John Doe who had an accidental drug overdose?" Woody asked.

Nigel nodded. "But this one is different."

"How?" asked Woody.

"This victim is obviously not homeless," Jordan replied this time, keeping her eyes level with Woody's, striving to catch and keep his attention. "If anything, it's apparent that he's upper middle class, at least. Look at his clothing…expensive, new, brand label stuff. Look at his shoes. This guy obviously had enough money to buy good heroin and not have to worry about cutting it with anything to make it last longer."

"But he still died of the same thing as your John Doe did last week…:" Woody continued, speaking only to Nigel now that the criminalist had joined Jordan in trace. "Can you tell me what really killed him? The poison or the drug overdose?"

Nigel shook his head. "That will take a bit of time…and an autopsy by Dr. Cavanaugh."

"How soon can you get it done and get the reports to me?" Woody questioned, swinging around to finally look at Jordan again.

"I can start tonight," she began and immediately regretted her words. This was too much like old times…her dropping everything else in her life to be at his beck and call on a case.

"Good," Woody replied smoothly, not letting her take back her words. "It's important…"

Prepping the body for further trace work, she watched as Woody began to pace the small room, stretching her all ready frayed nerves to their breaking point. "So why's it so important?" she asked, scraping underneath the victim's nails while at the same time keeping a wary eye on him.

"I've been working undercover with narcotics, Jordan."

"I know," she replied, hoping to get him to cut to the chase and get out of her morgue and away from her mending heart.

"We've been watching heroin shipments that were generated from somewhere in the south to Midwest and were shipped to the Eastern seaboard…with Boston being one of the many destinations. This is bad stuff, Jordan. It's been cut with Strychnine…and may have killed more people than we're aware of…." he went on to explain.

"How long has this been going on?" she quietly responded, noting that he was pacing faster now and running his fingers through his hair…Woody's tell-tale sign that he was upset, frustrated…

And angry. Again.

"At least three months that we know of, Jordan. _That we know of_," he said again for emphasis. "I mean it's bad enough that it's drugs….but to cut it with a poison that no one stands a chance against… That's just…"

"Murder," she calmly answered.

Woody nodded and turned to face her. "That's right. You know how I feel about drugs…"

Jordan nodded. That fact was well known.

"But deliberate, pre-meditated murder puts it in whole other category."

Jordan bit back a smile. At least Woody still had his passion for his job…even if he had turned into a cold-heated SOB in her book. And a policeman with passion was a good thing. Those types of cops solved more cases and did more good than any other kind.

"When the Captain moved me to narcotics, I didn't think I'd ever catch a case like this again…" he continued.

"But you did."

"Yes, I did. And this case could be the one that puts me back on homicide…" His voice had lost the passionate tone it had and sunk tohis frigid tones again. "So Jordan, do me a favor."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't fuck this up."


	3. It's Getting Better All the Time

**Chapter Three**

**It's Getting Better All the Time**

Jordan rubbed the heels of her palms into both eyes. It had been a long night…and an even longer morning. Once Woody had told her about the bad drug shipments, she had worked feverishly to complete trace and do the autopsy.

She told herself it was because she wanted to get a cold-blooded killer off the streets.

And if she said it enough, she was sure at some point she would believe it.

But the reality was, his return had stirred emotions in her she thought she was over. Regret. Longing.

Heartbreak.

So, she reasoned, the quicker she could get the information processed and get him out of her office and off her back, the better. Her life could return to normal. She wouldn't dream of him again.

She wouldn't wake up with a longing in her soul that only he could fill.

Putting a hand on the small of her back, she leaned backwards until she could hear her spine pop and her stiff muscles relax just a little. When all this was over, she was going to get a massage….right after she had the world's largest and strongest cup of coffee. Ruefully, she looked at her watch … four a.m. Starbuck's wouldn't be open for another two hours. Needing something to distract herself in the meantime, she wandered back into the locker room to change into an old pair of jeans and a shirt she kept in there as a spare. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror – the tired eyes and the dark circles that were hugging them, she silently asked herself the question, _Why in the hell am I doing this? Why the hell am I knocking myself out for Woody when all he really cares about is getting back into homicide – being a homicide detective once again?_

She couldn't give just one answer to that question. She wouldn't even try, because in reality there were at least three answers. First, of course, was to try to find out who this sinister killer was…and why was he or she doing this? Not that his or her victims were innocent by a far cry…they were drug users. But still…for all her and Woody's revulsions against drug use, no one should have to die this way. Not painfully poisoned.

Second, she mused, was that a part of her really wanted to see Woody back in his old department. He was a natural homicide detective. He could interrogate a suspect like no other Jordan had ever witnessed. Despite his arrogant demeanor, he could gear down into an "aw shucks" backwoods hick from Kewuanne in a heartbeat and win a suspect's trust.

Then he would go in for the kill….striking at the jugular of truth…She had seen suspects flounder and fall under his questioning.

If she kept telling herself that she only wanted Woody back in homicide for the good of the citizens of Massachusetts, she could leave her reasons at two. But if not…then that brought her to her third reason for wanting him back: Herself.

Maybe it was to test her mettle. To see if she was really over him. To be able to work with him again without wanting to touch him, smell him…feel his arms around her once more. To not want his kisses….and so much more. If she could deny herself all of that, then she was truly over him and was moving on.

But if not….if that desire…longing….still lingered. If she still wanted to whisper in his ear, "Don't leave me….I love you…." then she wasn't. As a matter of fact, she would be worse off than she was a year ago. Her heart would not have mended; it would have simply covered itself with a band aid called denial.

His presence would rip that bandage right off and leave her bleeding again.

But at least she would know where she stood emotionally. At least she would know if her heart was healed, or merely patched. At least she would know if she could move on and look for another relationship with another man…or if she was doomed to pine after a man who not only no longer wanted her, but seemed to despise her.

Jordan checked her watch again. Only five o'clock. Swallowing her distaste for vending machine coffee, she fished some change out of her purse and headed for the break room. It may not be Starbucks, but it was caffeine….and she needed that to ease her aching head and give her the energy to complete her reports.

And then see where the results took her. Back to a life without Woody…or one that would be a mere shadow of what they once could have had together.

* * *

Damn that dress.

Woody rolled over in his bed one more time and hit his pillow with his fist. Damn the dress _and _damn her for wearing it.

And damn himself more for wanting to see her in it…

Better yet, without it.

He had first seen Jordan in that dress nearly three years ago. And for many weeks afterwards, it was the subject of every one of his fantasies about her. Her in it. Him taking it off.

And he never took it off the same way twice. Oh, he got creative…very creative. He flinched at a certain body part causing him trouble at the memories.

So just when he's sure she's behind him…that he's a different man…no longer a welcome mat she could wipe her feet on….when he has to work with her again, she has to show up in that dress.

He thumped his pillow again in frustration. _Why her? Why that dress? Why tonight?_ he thought.

His mind…at least the rational part of his mind…told him she had no clue that he was the detective that had called her in on her night off. He made Emmy promise not to tell Jordan it was him. He was afraid that if she knew that, she wouldn't come in for love or for money…and this case was far too important to him for her to start any trouble between them. He had assumed the element of surprise would work in his favor.

So much for assumptions. It had only gotten him in a world of frustration…and anger. Even in her scrubs, he could still picture her in that dress. Especially when it became obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. For years he had thought she wouldn't wear one with that dress.

And he had been right. It didn't matter that she wore a smock loosely over her scrub shirt, the fact that she was more that aware of his presence in a physical way had been glaringly apparent.

Which not only left him with a swagger in his step…she still wanted him … but also with an aching in him that bore witness to the fact that he wanted her just as badly.

Damn that dress.

Woody rolled over to his back and tucked his hands behind his head. He wasn't sure what his body was experiencing most….sexual frustration or anger. If his behavior was any indication of which emotion was controlling him, it was anger. Hands down. He was an angry man.

Angry at the circumstances that always kept them apart. Angry at himself for letting them.

Angry at her.

For months his resentment at the sniper, his injuries, and all the repercussions that went along with them, had been under control. He was doing well. His temper was in check.

Until tonight. Until he saw her. Then all the fury in his soul spewed forth again. She brought it all back to the surface.

But why?

Jordan hadn't shot him. If anything, she had worked hard on the sniper case before he was shot. At least until Slokum had pulled her off of it. And even afterwards….when she had called the task force out on him when he wanted to shoot Riggs….she had done it to protect him. Protect his job. Protect his reputation.

To protect him from himself.

So why the hell was he so angry at _her_? Riggs should be the one that was the target of all his rage.

Because of what she said. _Don't leave me…please don't leave me. I love you, Woody._ No…on second thought, maybe it wasn't what she said….maybe it was _when_ she said it. Right when he was being wheeled into surgery…when he wasn't sure if he would walk again or not. She waited to tell him that she loved him when there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Jordan had played it safe with their relationship once again. If he had died, she could have an easy conscious…knowing that at the end, she had told him what he wanted to hear and in her own way, she had meant it.

But if he lived….and couldn't walk, she would still be safe because Jordan and he both knew there was no way he would let her be saddled with a cripple.

Ah…but if he could walk, which he did….eventually….she still might play the friend card….or ask that they still take things slowly.

And if things were anymore slow between them, they'd both be running backwards.

Woody grimaced at the memories. The near kisses and missed opportunities. No. She waited until it was "safe" for her to tell him that she loved him….at a time when she knew he was distracted…at a time when that emotion would take second place to him living and walking again.

That was her MO with their relationship. Safe. Slow. Distant. Friends.

And he had been damn tired of safe. Love wasn't supposed to necessarily be safe. It was supposed to be wild and passionate….it should make you feel vibrantly alive.

But when Jordan had told him that she loved him, all he could feel was the cold, dead weight of his legs coupled with the cold, dead weight of his heart – a feeling that was soon replaced with anger.

Anger at her. At her words…her timing….her lies.

She didn't love him. Not really. She had just wanted an easy conscious.

At least that's what he kept telling himself, even though her eyes had been filled with hurt then….and tonight when he told her not to fuck this one up. The hurt was there…along with something else he couldn't decipher.

He closed his eyes, determined to get a few hours of sleep before he had to go back to the morgue and review her reports. See her again.

But at least this time she wouldn't be wearing that dress.

Damn.


	4. Coldstream, Kentucky

**Okay…this plot bunny has been bouncing around in my head for three months and I'm just now writing it. But as I got into this I sort of got to thinking…. "You know…this sounds kind of like the X-files…I can picture the same thing happening to Mulder and Scully…" So yeah…maybe there's some cosmic connection in love stories that take waaayyyyy to long to consummate.**

**And by the way, I don't own the X-files, either.**

**And I've never been to Coldstream, Kentucky. Got my research off the internet. So if you're from that city, and I've got it dead wrong, you need to tell your city officials to update their web page. **

**

* * *

****Chapter Four**

**Coldstream, Kentucky**

The bodies kept popping up along the Eastern seaboard. In the span of two months, Boston had claimed five of them as her own. Jordan did the autopsies and trace. Dutifully, she reported the results to Woody, who in return, treated her with professional coolness and personal distain.

As Jordan got ready to take the fifth victim's reports over to him, she wearily wondered just how long his current attitude could last between them before she let him have it with both barrels of her verbal guns. Some days she itched to tell him off and put him firmly in his place.

But most of the time that feeling was overridden when she had to look into his eyes again. God help her if he was permanently moved back to homicide. She'd be a babbling idiot inside three months.

She pushed open the doors to the Nineteenth Precinct and took the elevator up to narcotics. Peering into his new office, she saw he wasn't there. A quick look around found him in the conference room, going over the facts on a white board. Jordan was surprised to see Lieutenant Murphy and Garret there.

"Ah…Jordan," Woody said. "I was just about to call you…"

"I've got the results on the fifth victim. Same MO. Heroin laced with Strychnine," she sighed tiredly as she handed him the results. "Lieutenant…Garret," she greeted the other men in the room.

Garret gave her a smile and motioned for her to come and sit by him. "Woody's got an interesting theory…one you may want to hear…since you'll be involved in the follow up."

"I will?"

"You're the ME that has done trace and autopsied all the victims," Garret explained.

_Oh joy,_ Jordan thought. _Just add this day to the list of really shitty ones I've had since Woody walked back into the morgue._ Keeping the expression on her face neutral, she listened as Woody explained his theory of where the tainted drugs came from…using the whiteboard and a map as his tools.

"All the victims were drug users….heroin being the drug of choice. But the drug didn't kill them…none of the victims in Boston or anywhere else died of a _lethal_ drug overdose. Too much heroin, yes, but not enough to kill them. They died of Strychnine poisoning. The drug was finely cut with the poison…and the poison was administered in lethal doses.

"Other than being hooked on heroin, our victims have little in common….they cover all economic and educational backgrounds…they range in age from sixteen to the late forties….the only thing they have in common is the tainted heroin.

"Fortunately, heroin production is much like any other trade….Just like fine china or quality leather goods, each manufacturer leaves their own 'trademark' or fingerprint. We know that all of the drug in question was produced by the same person or people. Each of the victims bought heroin that originated from the same source. It gets real fuzzy when you begin to break the crime down into the local dealers that each victim purchased the drug from, but what has become obvious during our investigation and investigations in other states, is that the heroin came from one centralized location." Woody paused for a moment before he continued.

"And where may that be?" asked Lieutenant Murphy.

"Coldstream, Kentucky."

There was silence in the room as that tidbit of information was digested. It was Garret who finally broke the quiet. "Coldstream, Kentucky? Where the hell is that?"

"It's a very small town outside of Louisville…according to the 2000 census, its total population was 956…"

Jordan let out a low whistle. "Welcome to Mayberry…."

Woody nodded. "If you think about it, it's an ideal location…close enough to a big city…the sixteenth largest city in the United States…to get the needed supplies, but yet in a small enough town that no one is going to ask too many questions because everyone knows everyone else…They may ask questions among themselves, but small towns have a way of shutting strangers out. Believe me, I know…" Woody continued, remembering his small hometown of Kewuanne, Wisconsin. "There's a sophisticated roadway system…access to a major airport…yet backwoods enough that …things…activities could be hidden and not questioned," he finished.

"You're sure?" questioned his lieutenant.

"I'd bet my badge on it, sir."

Blowing out a sigh, Murphy continued. "So what do you need, Hoyt?"

"I need permission to work with the Louisville, Kentucky police department or the sheriff's department, whichever one deals in tangent with Coldstream. I'll need to go out there and imbed myself…sniff around. If I can find out who's manufacturing the poisoned heroin, then the case will tie itself up in a neat, little knot. I'll also need to cooperation of the morgue that handles the cases in that area."

"Anything else?"

Woody took a deep breath. This was going to be the hard part. "I need Jordan."

"Do what?" Jordan asked in a voice of sheer incredulousness. "Me? Why?"

"You're the ME that has done trace and autopsied all the victims here in Boston," Garret patiently explained again. "Woody is going to need your help in verifying that the heroin, if any is found, is the same kind that killed our victims."

"So I can have her?" Woody asked, patently ignoring Jordan's protests that she didn't want to go to Kentucky and really didn't need to…Woody could fax her or e-mail her the information from the Kentucky morgue and she could do the comparisons in the safety and convenience of her Boston one.

"Yeah…but I can only spare her for a couple of weeks, Detective," Garret warned, "Any additional time is out of the question."

"Garret," Jordan protested. "The Furgeson case is coming up…"

"And I'll get Renee' to take your deposition before you leave. Bug assisted you on that one. He can testify if need be."

"But Garret," Jordan continued to protest, pulling him over to the side of the room. "I've never said 'no' to anything you've asked me to do, but this is above and beyond the call of my duty….I'm not going to Kentucky with that…that….jackass," she finished, indicating Woody, who was now smiling at her like a cat with a canary.

"It's only for two weeks out of your life, Jordan. Just two. You can do this. You'll have separate hotel rooms. Hell, stay in separate hotels for all I care. Just do your job."

"But…"

"No buts. Be the voice for the victims like you always have, Jo. Just remember, you're doing this for them and their families. They deserve justice."

"And Woody deserves a…."

"Jordan," Garret cut her off sharply. "Just….just do your job. You're only going to solve a case….simply to solve a case…okay?"

Reluctantly, Jordan nodded. She'd do her job. She'd do it well. She's help solve the case…but that was all she'd do.

And then she was taking one hell of a long vacation.

* * *

The flight to Louisville, Kentucky was a calm affair. The weather was wonderful. The drinks were cold. And the complimentary peanuts weren't stale.

If Jordan would have had better company sitting next to her, she actually could have enjoyed herself. Instead, Woody immersed himself in the case file and didn't speak to her for the entire three hour flight.

_It could be worse_, she had told herself before she decided to settle down for a nap. _He could be yelling at me again…But the only reason I'm here is to help solve the case…and just to solve the case. He only needs me to help him solve the case… He only needs me to help him solve the case… _she kept repeating to herself. That was the last thought that went through her mind before she dozed off. Next thing she knew, Woody was gently shaking her awake, telling her to buckle her seatbelt, they were getting ready to land.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and steady.

"Yeah…just sort of forgot where I was…" she pulled herself upright, praying that she didn't do anything embarrassing…like drool….or attempt to cuddle up to Woody because his aftershave kept tickling her nose and her memory.

After disembarking the plane, Woody got a rental car and they began the short drive from Louisville into Coldstream. "So you think the Louisville morgue will have everything you need?" he asked in an attempt to make polite conversation with the woman who could either make or break his case…secure his former position in homicide or send him back to the junkies and dealers in narcotics.

"From what I can tell, they will. I spent a couple of hours yesterday on the phone with the chief ME there, going over their equipment. I did need a few gadgets of my own. Nigel is shipping them there for me."

Woody grunted. "I did find out that Coldstream does have its own sheriff…."

"And let me guess, a deputy that carries the bullet for his gun around in his front shirt pocket?"

Chuckling, Woody nodded. "Something like that. The deputy is part time except during high school football season…when they need him at the games for 'crowd control'."

"Crowd control in a city of 956 people…wow."

"So…anyway, I talked to the Louisville sheriff...Allan Roberts…and quizzed him about Coldstream's sheriff…a guy named John Sanders. Roberts said that Sanders is a pretty straight up guy and should be more helpful than harmful in our investigation. Although for the life of him, Sanders couldn't believe anyone was manufacturing heroin in Coldstream. The city seems pure Americana…."

"There's always a dark side, Woody."

"You've told me that for years…"

"And I'm serious. There's a dark side to everything, every place, and everybody. You know it as well as I do."

He let her double entendre go over his head and relaxed for a moment. Things were going better than he expected with Jordan…He had anticipated fighting with her the whole flight and the entire drive. That was why he had buried himself in the case file he already knew word for word…and had been relieved when she dozed off to sleep. Whatever Garret had told her must have had an impact. She was doing her job and doing it well. Being a total professional.

Not giving him an inch of her personal space or mind.

He kept telling himself that was a good thing…. The best thing for both of them, yet inside he was only just beginning to realize how much he had missed her…missed their banter.

Yes, missed the friendship they used to have. The very thing that had driven them apart. Their _friendship_. The idle thought flickered through his mind that maybe love should be based on friendship first and then the passion and fire he so desired might surface later.

He immediately pushed the thought from his mind. Whatever they had was over. He was moving on…and she had, too. Clearing his throat and his mind, he commented, "Pretty country…"

"Yeah, in a rural sort of way. It doesn't remind me much of Mayberry, though…More like the movie 'Deliverance'."

"The one with Burt Reynolds and the guys on a canoe trip?"

"That would be the one…"

Woody laughed as he pulled into the Coldstream Sheriff's Department parking lot. "Well, I'll tell you one thing, Jordan.."

"What's that?"

"If any big backwoodsman tells me they're going to make me squeal like a pig, I'm outta here."


	5. Antioch Church

**Chapter Five**

**Antioch Church**

Sheriff John Sanders proved to be as straight up as Allan Roberts had told Woody. "I can't believe anything like poisoned heroin could be found in Coldstream…but who knows? Stranger things have happened," he said. "Just let me know how I can help."

"Could you let us examine any of your case files that deal with drugs, possession, or sale of drugs would be great," Woody replied.

Six hours later, Woody and Jordan had determined that the most exciting thing that had happened in Coldstream was a stream of tickets that been issued when a new traffic signal was installed. Jordan sighed in disgust and despair. "This is _worse_ than Mayberry," she said. "At least Barney had someone in lock up on the weekends, even it was just Otis sleeping off a drunk."

Woody chuckled, but knew she was right. "Yeah, I know…looks like we're going to have to dig a little deeper."

Jordan pushed back the files and stretched. "I've had it," she admitted. "I'm ready for dinner, a shower, and bed. Then I'll feel like hitting it hard and fresh tomorrow."

Woody nodded. "Sounds good."

"Where did you make reservations?"

"Reservations?"

"For the hotel rooms…" Jordan trailed off…"You did make reservations, didn't you Woody?"

Frantically Woody went through his "to-do-before-I-leave" list in his mind. He could have sworn he told the secretary in his department to make reservations for himself and Jordan….but he had no confirmation numbers or hotel names in his paper work. "Ah… mmm…the department didn't give me anything…"

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You left for Kentucky …. Coldstream, Kentucky … with no hotel reservations?" Her voice rose with each syllable for emphasis on his stupidity.

"I'm sure we can find something somewhere, Jordan…"

Jordan gazed at him, marveling at the man's ignorance. "Woody…this is Coldstream. Population 956. I haven't seen a Holiday Inn, a Red Roof Inn, or Aunt Bee's Bed and Breakfast…"

"But surely….there's somewhere…"

Sighing, Jordan offered one suggestion. "Talk to John. Maybe he knows of somewhere…All I know is that I'm not sleeping in a tent or the car."

888888888888888888888

"Well, I guess you could always check with Judge Thomas," Sheriff Sanders said, slowly rubbing his chin, appearing in deep thought. When Woody had asked John about hotels in the area, his initial response had been, "You are kidding, right?" When he saw that the detective was serious, he had put more thought into his next answer.

"Judge Thomas?" Jordan asked. "Does he run a boarding house or something?"

"No…but he does have a spare cabin that sets back in the woods a ways. He rents it out to hunters in the area."

"Any idea how we can get in touch with the judge and see about the cabin?" Woody asked.

John rubbed his chin again. He was by nature, a planner…he knew what Woody and Jordan would be facing with the old man…who was a curmudgeon without any stretch of the imagination. Lowell Thomas had been the judge for the county for more years than anyone could remember. In fact, no one, other than Lowell's wife, Ruth, could ever remember him being anything _other_ than the judge as well as the local minister -- two hats that the judge often wore at the same time and with great enthusiasm…a little too much enthusiasm in John's opinion. "This time of week and time of day, he's probably at his office at Antioch Church," John replied.

"His office is at the _church_?" Jordan questioned. "Didn't he hear the part in the Constitution about separation between church and state?"

John laughed at her. "No..no..Judge Thomas is also the pastor at Antioch. He's down there getting ready for Sunday services."

"Oh," Jordan replied, nodding, as if that made perfect sense to her.

"Yeah. But I need to let you two know something up front. Judge Thomas is an old-fashioned man…kinda set in his ways. Like most of the people in Coldstream, he's just a little suspicious of strangers, even if they're the 'good guys'," John continued, smiling.

"Thanks, we'll keep that in mind," Woody replied. He just wanted to get to the church, find Judge Thomas, secure the cabin, and go stretch out somewhere. Between the cramped quarters of their third class flight, the ride from Louisville to Coldstream in a compact car, and then sifting through case files all day, his back injury was killing him. He longed for a hot shower and thirty minutes stretched out on a bed somewhere with his muscle relaxers.

"I mean he's really…somethin'. Set in his ways, Woody."

Woody nodded. _If the old man gives me a hard time, I'll simply flash my Boston PD badge and have Jordan show her ME credentials. Surely as a man of the law, he would understand those…_he thought. "So how do I get to Antioch?"

"Take a right when you pull out of the parking lot. Go three blocks and take another right. The church is at the end of the road, set back on a little hill."

"Thanks….see you tomorrow," Woody answered, absent-mindedly putting a hand on Jordan's back to steer her towards the car.

He didn't hear John chuckle as they walked off.

* * *

They found the church in just a few minutes time. Woody walked into the vestibule and Jordan trailed along a few feet behind. "Judge Thomas?" Woody called out.

"Who wants to know?" responded a voice from behind a closed door.

"Woody Hoyt…Boston PD."

The door opened a crack. "Boston, huh? Heard you folks were down here snooping around … something about drugs."

"Yes, sir."

"Then what do you need me for, Hoyt? I haven't processed a drug case in Coldstream in ….well, come to think of it, I never have presided over a drug case in Coldstream."

"It's not about drugs," chimed in Jordan. "It's about that spare hunting cabin you have…"

The door opened completely then and a slightly rotund, balding, tall man filled the doorway. "My hunting cabin. What about it?"

"We were wondering, sir, if we could rent it for a couple of weeks while we're in Coldstream?" Woody asked, backing up just a half a step. The judge was taller than he was.

"Both of you in that cabin?"

"Yes…yes sir."

"Is she a detective, too?" Judge Thomas asked, pointing at Jordan.

_Well, almost…_ Woody thought. "No..no. This is Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh…she's a medical examiner for the state of Massachusetts."

"An ME? What's an ME doing on a drug case?"

"It was her office that pinned the heroin down…and the poison that was used. I need her for the investigation," Woody responded, not sure where this odd conversation was going.

"Is she going to stay with you in my hunting cabin?" The judge asked, looking over the top of his glasses at Jordan, making her feel like she was one of Bug's insect examples on display.

"Yes…." replied Woody.

"I'm sure I can handle a hunting cabin," Jordan added. "I've stayed in rougher places." She was imagining a true hunting cabin…limited indoor plumbing, no heat…just the basic necessities. She could understand an older man's hesitancy about putting a woman in a cabin that had such primitive conditions.

"Oh, it's not the cabin that is bothering me," replied the judge with an amused look on his face. "It's a nice cabin…Even has a hot tub. I fixed it up nice in order to rent out to men during the hunting season. The nicer the cabin, the more money you make. But you must know that I am also more than just the judge in this town….I am also the pastor of this church. And as the pastor of Antioch Church, I feel I have certain standards that I have to uphold with that church office. So I need to ask you two, are you married?"

"Married?" choked out Jordan.

"You mean to each other?" Woody asked, his voice taking on a pre-pubescence tone.

The judge nodded

_You're joking, right?_ Jordan thought, catching a glimpse of Woody's face and discovered he was thinking the same thing.

But one look at Lowell Thomas's face proved he wasn't joking. "No…I asked you a question. I expect an answer. An honest answer."

"No….no, we're not married…to each other or anyone else," Woody answered slowly. "Is that a problem?"

Judge Thomas nodded. "In Boston, maybe not. Boston's a big city…a lot can go unnoticed, or a lot of people just don't care. But Coldwater's different. It's a small town…conservative. And I'm the pastor as well as the judge here. If I say one thing and do another, it's going to be noticed. And I've always preached against cohabitation before marriage. So if I let you two unmarried folk rent my cabin…"

"But we're _not_ cohabitating….or anything else," Jordan interrupted, disbelief in her voice. She though these attitudes died out with the demise of the Moral Majority sometime in the eighties…along with really big hair bands.

"Doesn't matter. It would appear that way to some of these folks…"

Jordan glanced over at Woody, hoping she could see the same frustration in his eyes that she knew was in hers. But the he had on his detective face…completely neutral. "So you won't rent the cabin to us?" Woody asked.

"I'll rent to you," the judge said, motioning to Woody. "And she can stay with me and Ruth at the farm house."

"The farm house?" Jordan parroted back. "That's it…get in the car, Woody. We're going to go into Louisville and find a hotel… I can't believe these backwoods…"

"Jordan," Woody broke in sharply. He knew his back couldn't handle even the short ride to Louisville without serious repercussions. His legs and lower spine were telling him in no uncertain terms to call it a day. Woody gave the judge a knowing look. "What would it take for you to rent us the cabin? Both of us. For two weeks."

"You'd have to be married."

"Woody…." Jordan said again…trying to get his attention. There was no way Woody was going to foist her off on some back hill demented judge and his probably equally disturbed wife. The house was probably haunted and she could just imagine spending the night in a room that was straight from the movie "Psycho."

"Jordan," Woody answered, his voice still sharp and forced. "Can I see you for a moment…outside? And Judge you stay right there for just a moment?" The judge nodded again and Woody led Jordan out the door and down the steps of the church, out of earshot of Lowell Thomas.

"There's no way I'm spending the night in the farmhouse from hell," Jordan began on him, her voice loud and forceful.

Woody held up his hands as if in surrender, hoping not only to quiet her down, but calm her down. "I'm not going to ask you to," he said.

"Good. Then let's get in the car and head over to Louisville and find a room."

Woody sighed and stifled a grimace of pain that wanted to work its way across his face. "I can't, Jo."

"Can't? Why not? What are we supposed to do? Sleep in the car?"

"No…I simply can't go much farther. Between the cramped seating during the long flight…then the cramped car….and sitting and looking over all those files this afternoon, my back is killing me. My legs are hurting…I just don't feel good."

Jordan looked at him in alarm. Despite the fact she had little contact with him during his stint in narcotics, she had assumed that all of his back surgeries and physical therapy had left him pain-free. But the white line around his mouth and the grimace he was trying to hide was telling her a different story. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and brushed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said in a softly, compassion filling her voice. "I didn't know. You should have said something before now…we would have stopped earlier…"

"It's okay…I try not to let my injuries slow me down or hinder what I do…but I'm in pain, Jo."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Jordan asked. At this point, it was obvious he was hurting.

"Let Judge Thomas marry us….then we can share the cabin and get a divorce when we get back to Boston…"


	6. Kiss the Bride

**Chapter Six**

**You May Kiss the Bride**

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

Jordan couldn't believe this was really happening…not to her….and certainly not with Woody. But yet, here she was…standing in front of the pulpit in the tiny church, taking Woody as her "lawfully wedded husband." She swallowed hard. In all the scenarios she could have possibly dreamed up about her wedding, this was the farthest thing from her mind.

And God knows, while at one time, Woody would have been her first choice as husband, she wouldn't let herself imagine being his wife.

_But I really won't be…it's in name only…_ she corrected herself. _This is just for a couple of weeks …We're doing this simply to solve this case…people's lives are worth this sacrifice, right? We'll probably have the divorce in hand before the marriage certificate is even filed. _.At least that was the plan. When Jordan got back to Boston, she'd talk to her lawyer-friend Kim and get the divorce filed on the down low. No one would ever know…no one would ever need to.

After a few more words outside on the church lawn, they had gone back inside the vestibule and told Judge Thomas a bald-faced lie – that they had been dating for a while and were planning to get married anyway…so could he just go ahead and perform the ceremony? They could always have another ceremony in Boston for family and friends…but they had decided that this was kind of romantic and appealed to both of them.

The judge had been delighted. "Since I am the judge as well as the minister, I can cut through the paperwork and file the marriage license for you myself with a note of explanation tomorrow at the courthouse. Let me call Ruth and have her come up to be the other witness…."

And within a half an hour, everything was done. Ruth had appeared shortly after the judge called her – a tiny, sweet, gray-haired woman that had somehow not only obtained a set of rings in record time, but also had Jordan some roses to hold as a bouquet. "They came out of my garden," she explained. "And every woman needs roses on her wedding day…"

_Wedding day…oh shit_, thought Jordan. _This is really happening_….

She heard Woody repeat his vows after Judge Thomas…and somewhere she heard herself repeat hers to Woody. At least the Judge left out the part about obey…

"You may now kiss the bride," Judge Thomas solemnly concluded, looking expectantly at Jordan and Woody.

_Shit_, thought Jordan. _This adds insult to injury…_She turned to Woody, fully expecting him to chastely just brush her lips with his…She didn't anticipate that his mouth would take firm possession of hers…pulling her to him and molding her lips to his. Jordan wasn't prepared for the emotions that zinged through her body, or the chills that ran up her spine.

Not to mention the way her toes curled up in her Doc Martins. The man could kiss, even when he was in pain. All too soon for her, Woody slowly broke the embrace.

"I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt…"

_Oh hell…I'm Mrs. Hoyt…. Mrs. Hoyt…. I'm Mrs. Hoyt…._

* * *

The drive to the cabin was a silent one…Jordan still held on to her roses, hoping to find something to put them in once she got to the cabin. Ruth had hugged her on the way out of the church. "I hope you and Woodrow are as happy as Lowell and I have been for the past sixty-three years," she whispered to Jordan.

"Sixty-three years?"

Ruth nodded.

"Wow….maybe you can tell me how you made it last that long sometime while I'm in Coldstream…"

Ruth beamed. "We'll do lunch…I'll stop by the sheriff's department tomorrow…" She patted Jordan's back before the ME climbed in the car beside Woody.

"Here we are," Woody finally said after the silent ride, pulling into a long driveway with the cabin at the end.

Cabin indeed. It was a beautiful A-frame structure…although Judge Thomas had called it "nice," it was more than that, even if it was on the small side.

Woody pushed open the door and he and Jordan tugged their luggage inside. "Wow…" Woody said, whistling… "not bad…better than a hotel."

"Yeah, much better…" Full gourmet kitchen…natural wood-sided walls…a fireplace in the den…full bath downstairs and a porch that circled the entire building. Glass windows ran from nearly ceiling to floor and overlooked some of the most breathtaking landscapes Jordan had ever seen.

"The judge said the bedroom was upstairs," Woody continued. "I'll take your things up…"

"No," Jordan replied just as sharply as Woody had done with her on the church lawn. She had watched him carefully through the ceremony and after. And while he had said nothing else about the pain he was in, Jordan noticed that he now walked with a slight limp. "You take the bedroom upstairs. You need to lie in a bed, not on a couch – somewhere you can stretch out and get some relief. I'll take the couch downstairs."

"No…Jordan…" Woody began to protest.

"Nope. No excuses and no damn chivalry. I'm shorter, I can fit on the couch…when you're better, we'll switch off."

The white knight that was still left in Woody wanted to object to these arrangements, but his pain was growing worse each minute. He desperately needed that hot shower and his muscle relaxers. Reluctantly, he agreed. "Okay…but just until I'm better…"

"Agreed. Now go…" she said pointing upstairs. "Meanwhile, Ruth is sending up some boxes of groceries. I'll see what I can scare up for dinner…"

* * *

He had never eaten Jordan's cooking before tonight. The woman could cook…he had to give her that…far better than he thought she could. He had cooked for her once…the Sickboy case where she first wore that red dress. He had prepared pasta and marinara sauce in her Pearle Street apartment.

And she had liked it.

Woody sighed and rolled over on his side. _That was four years ago…_ he thought. _Four years…_At that time, he had been strongly attracted her, although the attraction was mainly physical. Jordan was…hot. _Still is…_

The physical attraction morphed into something more with time. Respect…admiration…and the desire to protect. For all of Jordan's strengths, at times she held this fragile vulnerability around her that simply had made Woody want to wrap his arms around her and take care of her. Hold her until all her fears and demons melted away.

He screwed that up in the hospital. She had reached out to him and he shoved her back. He said that he didn't need her pity…told her to go away…get out. And for the first time in their relationship, Jordan had done exactly what he had asked.

For a while, he had been sure that was exactly what he wanted. A chance to start over…new and fresh. He hadn't chanced that seeing her again would jump start some emotions he was sure was dead.

And he sure as hell hadn't anticipated that the kiss she gave him today would burn its way to the core of his being. Woody moved restlessly in bed, his attention now caught by the light of the moon reflecting on his wedding ring. He smiled at the irony. The woman he had chased…desired….wanted for so long was now his wife…

_His wife_.

A year ago, he'd given anything to be able to say that. Now he wasn't sure how to process it. Yes, it was only for this case. And yes, she had done it because his back was truly bothering him. It bothered him to the point he couldn't go down for dinner. She had brought it up to him and examined his back, finally insisting that an ice pack would do him good.

In the end, she had pitied him. And her pity had made her Mrs. Woodrow Hoyt.

But, he reflected, her pity wasn't such a bad thing. She had fussed over him tonight and he had let her. As matter of fact, it felt good to be the center of someone's attention, even if it was just for a couple of weeks, he rationalized. And he would do the same for her if she was ever hurt.

He looked at his wedding ring in the moonlight. It looked strange to see it on his left hand…he twisted it and pulled it off, observing his hand now plain and ordinary. _It looks stranger with it off_, he thought as he slid the ring back on. _I've been married less than six hours…and I'm already used to my wedding ring? There must be something wrong with me…it's the meds…_

And if he kept telling himself that, he was sure he would believe it.


	7. A Glimmer of Sweet Hope

**Chapter Seven**

**A Glimmer of Sweet Hope**

The case was going to hell in a handbag.

At least from Woody's perspective….so far, he and Jordan had turned up nothing…nothing… to substantiate his hunch that the tainted heroin was produced in Coldstream. They had followed every lead, from known heroin contacts in Louisville to questioning recent purchases from hardware stores that would lead someone to believe there was a lab somewhere in the area.

They all had led down a dead end road. Woody was ready to throw up his hands in disgust and go home – work on finding more information about this heroin case elsewhere. Just one thing stopped him.

Going back to Boston would mean giving up Mrs. Hoyt.

And he was enjoying watching every minute of Jordan adjusting to her new last name too much to go back home and toss the marriage license in the garbage can.

He grinned as he remembered their first day back at the sheriff's department after being married by the Judge. John caught the glint of their rings immediately, pushed his sheriff's hat back on his head, and smiled widely. "So….old man Thomas got to you…."

Woody looked uncomfortable and didn't know what to say. It was Jordan who saved his pride. "We've been together for a while now…dating. And have been talking about getting married for the last several months…but what with Woody's schedule and my schedule…it's just made it hard. So when Judge Thomas…."

"Gave you a fit about renting the cabin and not being married, you decided to kill two birds with one stone, mix business with pleasure, and go ahead and tie the knot," John finished.

"Something like that," Woody murmured.

"Then congratulations…._Mrs. Hoyt_," Sheriff Sanders said, emphasizing the last word for Jordan and giving Woody a knowing pat on the back. Woody felt his ears turn red and turned to look at Jordan…who preceded to calmly walk into their office with all the serenity of a woman who took marrying her co-worker as just part of her job description.

And for some reason, that rankled him.

He had expected more protest from her…or perhaps he anticipated that she would refuse to wear her wedding ring except during the times when they may come in contact with Ruth or Judge Thomas. But no….it stayed on her hand.

Just like his ring stayed on his finger.

Ruth had come by the next day to see Jordan at the sheriff's department, just as she had promised she would. She and Jordan went to lunch and when Jordan returned, Woody had asked her how it went and what they talked about. Jordan had simply smiled and called Ruth a "precious woman who told me everything I ever wanted to know about marriage."

Woody didn't want to ask what that meant. All he knew was that Jordan was seemingly enjoying wearing his last name…it was as easy for her to slip into as those old, tight jeans she was so fond of wearing.

And he was so fond of looking at her in. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was a good thing she was in Louisville right now….a body had come in. Possible heroin overdose. Jordan had taken their rental car and drove into the morgue there and would be back to pick him up later…he prayed that whatever she found would somehow put them back on the trail of the killer. He was so deep in thought that when his cell phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Hoyt," he managed to say into the mouthpiece.

"Hi honey…you sound tired….hard day at the office?" her voice teased over the phone line.

"Funny, Jordan. Funny. And yes, it has been a hard day," he blew out a sigh. There was no need for him to take his frustrations out on her. "I just can't seem to put this case together…it's like a house of cards…it just keeps falling apart…tell me you've got something…please."

"I think I do…We found something on the victim's pants and shoes. Have you ever heard of Diphasiatrum digitatum… also known as Lycopodium flabelliforme?"

"Are you ordering from an Italian menu? If so, I just want spaghetti and meatballs.."

Jordan chuckled. "Diphasiatrum digitatum is ground-cedar or running-cedar. It's native to the Bluegrass area and it's on the endangered plant list for Kentucky…"

"Fascinating Jordan. What does this have to do with the case?"

"The victim died of poisoned heroin…heroin with Strychnine. But he had the running cedar in his pant's cuff and in the tracks of his shoes…"

"And this has to do with what?"

"Coldstream is one of the places that Diphasiatrum digitatum grows wild…as a matter of fact, there's a heavy growth of it near the county recreation center…out towards the ball fields…according the research guys here at the Louisville morgue…."

"Gotcha….I'm on it…."

"Just….Woody….be careful…."

"Yes, honey…will do," he teased back before hanging up the phone. Damn that woman was good….

* * *

Two hours later, a search of the ball fields had turned up a few more things…First, Jordan had sped back from Louisville to join him in the search. John had called in his part-time deputy, Arnie, and they all began to search the playing fields behind the recreation center. They had discovered a heavy growth of the running cedar and fresh footprints. Jordan had made a mold of the shoe prints to carry back to the morgue and compare with the victim's shoes.

But no heroin.

Woody had nearly screamed in disgust and frustration. _With this luck, God knows how many more people are going to die and I'm going to be stuck in narcotics forever…._

"Looks like that's it, boys," Jordan said, finally snapping off her flashlight when they got back to their cars. "That's all we got tonight. I want to come back tomorrow and look around when there's better light…."

"I'll come with you Dr. Cav….Dr. Hoyt," volunteered Arnie, who had looked at Jordan with unabashed admiration all evening.

And for some reason that really irritated Woody…added just another layer to his disgust and frustration.

It got no better when Jordan had turned to the deputy and smiled her most charming smile and replied, "Thanks…that would be great."

Woody was sure that even in the dim light of dusk he saw the young man blush before he responded again…"Well, snakes are out this time of year…you don't need to be gettin' bit or anything…"

"Ah….snakes…." Jordan replied. "So not my favorite reptile. I'd appreciate you coming with me then…tomorrow morning?"

Woody swore the man blushed again before he nodded, got in his truck, and drove away. John followed soon afterwards, taking the molded footprint with him back to the sheriff's department. Woody and Jordan were left, loading her equipment in the car. "I'll get that…" she told him, bending down to pick up a case."

"I can get it, Jordan. I'm not a cripple…" Woody retorted, his edginess evident in his voice.

"I didn't say you were," she replied softly, a little taken back at his tone, "I just don't want you to hurt your back…"

"I'm not going to hurt my back…" he said, his voice still forceful. She dropped the bag at his feet, without saying another word and got into the car. He picked it up, put it in the trunk and slammed it shut. Then he started the car to drive them back to the cabin.

It was mostly a silent ride….until she finally asked what he knew she was going to. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

She gave him a sideways glance, taking in the frustrated lines on his forehead and around his mouth. "It's a good lead, Woody. And I think it will pan out into something. I'll take the footprint with me tomorrow and if we can put our victim here…"

"I know that…" he cut in sharply.

"Then what the hell is eating you?"

He was silent for a minute. "You are…" he finally said.

"Me? What did I do?"

"What did you do?" He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. "I swear…"

"All I've done is try to help you…"

"That's not it."

"Then what is?"

Silence again for a minute. "Do I have to remind you that you are supposed to be a married woman…and you need to act like it in order for us to carry this ….charade out?"

"So this is all about me…and what I'm doing wrong? May I remind you that it was _your_ suggestion that we get married?" They had arrived at the cabin by now and she was out of the car in a heartbeat, moving away from him quickly. Woody found himself struggling to keep up. She unlocked the door and threw it open so fast, he nearly stumbled in the entrance way.

"You just need to be careful…quit flirting so much."

"Flirting? With who?"

"Arnie…"

"The deputy? I was just being nice, Woody. You're always telling me to play nice."

"Nice doesn't mean leading a man on…especially with you being _Mrs. Hoyt_."

"I'm sure Arnie didn't take it that way…"

"And I'm sure he did," Woody said smoothly, covering the space between them in the small kitchen. "You forgot…I'm a man…I know how we think…"

"Yes. I know you're a man…and that you _don't think_ half the time…God…you can be such an asshole, Woody."

Drawing in a deep breath, he struggled to keep his anger under control….lowering his voice, he continued, "We have to be convincing here as a married couple…so just….be careful…just act like you're really…._Mrs. Hoyt_," he finished.

"I _am_.," she replied, her voice equally as low, but fire burned in her eyes. "Now your _wife_ is going to bed. I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day and both of us will need our rest." She stormed off to her bathroom to put on her pajamas and wash her face. Somewhere between that and brushing her teeth she heard Woody go upstairs and slam the door to his bedroom. Shrugging her shoulders and wiping her mouth, she thought, _serves him right…I hope he is upset…as upset as I am…_

The truth was glaringly apparent to Jordan. She had enjoyed playing Woody's wife. She had nearly bolted the first time someone had called her Mrs. Hoyt, but after that, it took on a comfortable feeling…like she was … well, home.

She sighed as she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and settled in for bed. She hadn't meant to offend him…she would apologize tomorrow….let him stew tonight….

She just hoped he would know she was sincerely sorry if she had hurt him….again.

* * *

Regret can be a cold-heated bitch.

And regret coupled with guilt can be even worse.

That's what Woody was finding out as he tried to sleep. Jordan was right…tomorrow was going to be a busy day and he needed to rest, as she did…but somehow closing his eyes and drifting off into oblivion was eluding him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw _her_…in the red dress…looking at him with hurt filled eyes when he kicked her out of his hospital room…the concern in her eyes the other afternoon when he admitted to her that his back was killing him…

The soft look on her face after he had kissed her at their wedding…for just the briefest of moments then he didn't see hurt or concern or pity…but a glimmer of sweet hope at what might have been between them.

Then she had quickly dropped her eyes and turned away.

It was the glimpse of hope that had allowed Woody to pursue at least a more friendly tact with Jordan while they were in Kentucky…and she had responded likewise. It had been going well.

Until tonight, when all the jealousy in his soul over her hurled itself to the forefront. It had been bad enough that Danny McCoy had called her several times from Vegas while they were in Coldwater. Jordan never breathed a word about her nuptials, just chatted with him and hung up. And then Arnie tonight….not that Arnie was Jordan's type of man…no. But McCoy could be, if Jordan let him…

And if regret was a cold-hearted bitch, jealousy was truly her green-eyed monster on a leash. Despite the fact that he had told her to get out of his life, he no longer wanted her, he still did not want her to say the words she had said to him to another man…_Don't leave me…please, don't leave me…I love you_.

Somewhere in a secret place in his mind, he believed she had reserved those words for him and him alone. To think she would ever say those words to another man….

Well, just made him furious.

Despite the fact he had no right to feel that way, Woody rolled over and determinedly tucked his pillow beneath his head. Thank God the muscle relaxers were beginning to kick in…maybe he'd get some relief soon…

* * *

Somewhere in the early morning hours, Jordan heard him begin to move about upstairs. She rolled over and cracked an eye open…glancing at the large red numbers on her alarm clock….3:30…a.m. Far too early to get up. She rolled back over, thinking that he was just getting up to go to the bathroom.

Then she heard him cry out.

_Oh, God, his back_….was her frantic thought as she took the stairs two at a time to get to him…_I told him not to over do it…_ She threw open the door to his bedroom…to find he was dreaming….

But it wasn't pleasant dreams….he was reliving his shooting…Jordan went and sat on the side of the bed next to him. "Woody," she whispered as she instinctively brushed the hair off his forehead and gently shook him. "Woody…it's a bad dream, baby….wake up…"

The second shake did seem to wake him up…he bolted straight up and into her arms. "Oh God…" he whispered.

Jordan just held him, letting him bury his head in the curve of her neck, holding on to her like there was no tomorrow…he was shaking and was fighting tears. She rubbed soft, comforting circles on his back… "It's okay…you're okay, Woody. It's all a bad dream…."

"I know…" he said, not relinquishing his hold on her. "I know…it's just…"

"The shooting, isn't it?" she asked. She felt him nod. "Bad dreams are normal about stuff like this…" She felt him nod again. "Do you have them often?"

Woody struggled to pull himself together. To his superiors at the police department, and indeed, many of his friends, Woody had seemingly put the sniper shooting behind him with ease…he didn't mention it or his injuries….he was, as one of his subordinates said, a "man of steel."

The steel had bent tonight. The one person in the world that he had never wanted to show any weakness to was now holding him in her arms like he was a baby. Reluctantly he tried to loosen his hold on her and pull away. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just…"

"That when you're stressed the dreams come back?"

He nodded. She understood …at least he thought she did…"How did you know?"

"Remember that case I told you I was on right before you came to Boston…the one with Digger?"

"Yeah…"

"When I'm really stressed, have a really bad day…or don't feel good, I dream about him….and the coffin…I feel like I'm suffocating all over again…"

Woody stared at her for a moment in complete horror. He had no idea…she had never said a word. He wondered if some of her sleepless nights had anything to do with those nightmares. Instantly he felt ashamed he had never inquired further….that he had never done anything about them for her. "Oh, Jo….I'm sorry.."

She shrugged. "Wish I could tell you your dreams will go away, but I'd be lying to you…I can tell you they eventually don't come as frequently…"

"Good…at least that's something to look forward to…"

She smiled at him…she hadn't let him go completely, her arms still loosely looped around him. "Do you want me to stay with you until you go back to sleep?"

He bit his lip…he still was bashful about admitting any weakness to this woman…he had always prided himself in being strong for her. Instead tonight he had discovered that Jordan had been amazingly strong for herself….and could be just as strong for him. "Do you mind?" he whispered in the dark

"Not in the least." She stood and pulled back the covers, tucking him in and then laying down beside him, taking him back in her arms. Gently running her fingers through his hair, she said softly, "Go to sleep…at least if either of us have bad dreams again tonight, we have each other…"

_Not a bad thing…_ he remembered thinking before exhaustion did overcome him. _Not a bad thing at all._

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, she wasn't there. He stretched out his arm to pull her to him again, and she wasn't there. Woody might have thought he dreamed the whole thing if the scent of her perfume and shampoo didn't cling to his pillow. He got up, pulled on his jeans and a shirt, and went downstairs, hoping to find her and apologize for his bad behavior yesterday and thank her for her loving touch last night.

She had made the coffee, but wasn't anywhere to be found. Then he heard the downstairs shower running….the door was cracked. "Jordan?' he called.

"In here….I'll be out in a minute…" she answered back.

He knew he shouldn't…but he did it anyway. Walking over to the door, he peeked in the bathroom…the shower curtain was one of those clear plastic ones…damn, she was beautiful…taking a deep breath and one more quick glance he peeled himself away from the door frame and headed upstairs to take his own shower….and he'd bet good money his shower would be decidedly colder than hers.


	8. Starlight, Star Bright

**Chapter Eight**

**Starlight, Starbright**

He couldn't shake the picture of her in the shower from his mind. All that day, while she was at the Louisville morgue working on their case and he was in Coldstream following up leads there, the image of a wet, beautiful, completely naked Jordan kept popping up in his mind when he least expected it…kind of like those annoying pop-up commercials some television shows have in the corner of your TV screen.

Only Jordan wasn't the least bit annoying….but he found it hard to concentrate with her image showing up in his head when he should have been thinking through leads and suspects. Instead Woody found himself staring out into space…just seeing her.

It had been bad enough that he had been so sensitively aware of her before….this only made that sensitivity worse. He sighed, shook his head, and got up to get another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long afternoon.

And the night was looking to be even longer.

He was annoyed with himself…yeah, that's it…annoyed….He shouldn't be thinking of her like that. As a matter of face, he shouldn't be thinking of her at all…he should be thinking about this poisoned heroin case…and getting that damn thing wrapped up. Macy said he could only spare Jordan for two weeks. The first week was nearly up…and other than some Diphasiatrum digitatum and some shoe prints that Jordan was trying to match, they didn't have a whole lot to build a case on.

Deliberately pushing thoughts of her aside, he grabbed another file and settled back into research mode…determined to make some headway before quitting time. He jumped when his door suddenly swung open and Jordan actually materialized before his eyes…not wet or naked, but clothed and still very lovely.

"J..Jordan," Woody managed to stammer out. "What are you doing here?"

"I've done everything I can do at the Louisville morgue," she sighed, sounding totally defeated and utterly exhausted. She plopped down in a chair in front of Woody's desk.

"One of the molds matches this victim's shoes tread for tread, she continued. "The other mold doesn't. We not sure who it belongs to, but I've got Nigel looking for whoever purchased a size 15 Bass boot, model 1578BGS in this area…That's as close as I've come to establishing a suspect."

Woody drew a deep breath. She had put in a lot of work for this…he knew it….scanning in the footprints, running it against God knows how many data bases to come up with what she had. The fact that she was putting forth so much effort didn't go over his head. And he wanted her to know that he knew it. And appreciated it. "That's good, Jo…real good. Something will come of it, I'm sure."

Jordan shook her head. "We need to nail whoever is doing this, Woody. Too many people have died already…"

"We will… we'll find whoever is responsible for the deaths and bring them to trial."

"I hope so…meanwhile, when are you quitting for the day?"

Woody pushed back in his chair and looked at the stack of files on top of his desk. "I need to go through these….and then I'll be done."

"What are they?"

"Files from drug arrests in the surrounding counties…"

Jordan let out a low whistle. "There's that many junkies in Kentucky?"

"Apparently so…"

She grabbed the top half of the stack and opened the first one. "Just tell me what I'm looking for…"

* * *

Three hours later, they had pulled five suspects from the files. None lived directly in Coldstream, but all lived in nearby surrounding cities. All were male…and large enough that they may require a size fifteen shoe. Two had direct connections with Coldstream. "That's enough," Woody declared, standing and stretching his back.

"Calling it a day?" John asked from the doorway.

"I think so. We've done about all the damage we can do right now," Jordan responded, as she brushed past John. "Woody, I'm gonna use the restroom and I'll meet you at the car."

Woody nodded absent-mindedly as he gathered their things together.

"So how's it going?" John asked, not moving from his position against the door jam.

"Well, if the case keeps moving the way we think it will, we could have a suspect in custody in a few days…"

"That's not what I meant. I meant how's it going with _your wife_….I mean you two just get married and you're taking a working honeymoon…"

That thought hadn't struck Woody before….a working _honeymoon_? Was there really such a thing.? And a honeymoon? With Jordan? While the thought was sweet, Woody still had to admit his feelings towards her were ambivalent. One minute they could be acting like the best of friends and co-workers…the next minute, they could be at each other's throats.

But still the memory of being held by her the other night was very sweet…the view of her this morning in the shower, even sweeter. Realizing he had stopped packing his briefcase and was just staring into space, Woody opened his mouth and stammered, "Fine..just ….just… ah … fine, John."

"I guess you folks can have a real honeymoon after the case is solved and you're back in Boston."

_Back in Boston_. Woody nearly shook his head. Once they were back in Boston, the rings would slip from their fingers and divorce papers would be filed. It would be quick and easy. The marriage had never been consummated; therefore, they were never legally wed. Woody would go his way, Jordan would go hers. No property settlements, no alimony, no custody battles, no child support payments. Clean and simple, and with the precision of a surgical incision, his last name would be severed from hers. Forever. Their "marriage" would be something that only the both of them would remember with amusement…and maybe even a few rounds of "what if's."

Suddenly the future could possibly be a little bleaker than Woody anticipated. Remembering he still hadn't answered John's question, he managed to stammer out again, "Uh…yeah. Gotta go now, John. Jor's probably waiting on me at the car." He nodded and began to walk towards the rental at a slower pace than normal. John's "Have a good evening," rang hollow in Woody's ears.

* * *

He didn't need to even think such thoughts…a honeymoon with Jordan. Woody looked over at her while they were doing the dishes in companionable silence. He was washing, she was drying. _I really don't. Any chance I once had with her is long over. She's moved on…Danny's calling her….and even though she's technically "married," I see the way other men look at her. She's beautiful. All she'd have to do is crook one finger and she could have whoever she wanted._ He swallowed hard as another voice answered that statement: _Yeah, sure. If she could make up her mind who it was she wanted._

He once would have sworn that _who_ was him. Good thing he hadn't been under oath. He'd be arrested for perjury. In the end she hadn't really wanted him…she had pitied him.

"Okay, I'm done," she announced, hanging her dishtowel on the handle of the oven door. "Thanks for dinner. It was wonderful, as usual."

"You're welcome."

She stood in a semi-awkward silence in the middle of the kitchen. One of the bad things about not having a bedroom was that there was nowhere to retreat to when Woody's gaze became too intense.

Or when he crawled back into that self-imposed shell he created for himself. And although during the past week he had seldom been in that shell, there were times when Jordan still felt him retreating from her…and even though it was over between them, it still hurt. Badly.

"Are you going to work on the case anymore tonight?" she asked, breaking the short silence.

"No…I'm not. I'm thinking about watching a little TV and heading for bed. What about you?"

Jordan shook her head. "Not much of a TV person…."

Woody turned and walked into the small den that also served as Jordan's bedroom and sat down on the couch. Grabbing the remote, he began flipping through the channels, hoping to catch a stray baseball game, the X-Files, even Law and Order…anything to get his mind off the case, off Coldstream, and off her.

Jordan watched him for a moment and then turning, she slid out the back door, quietly shutting it behind her. Sometimes being that close to him, smelling his aftershave, still unnerved her…tantalized her senses and threw temptation right in her face. She softly walked along the wrap around porch until she came to the porch swing in the corner, gently sitting down in it, so it wouldn't creak and alert Woody to where she was at. She needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts before going back in side.

While it was still chilly in Kentucky this time of year, it wasn't really cold. The stars were hanging in the sky, brightly shining. They never seemed to shine this brightly in Boston. Or maybe she rarely took the time to notice. She was always so bombarded with cases…and she had spent the last several months desperately trying to move on with her life, and to exorcise herself of Woody Hoyt and everything they could have…should have….had together and been to one another.

She had been remotely successful until time and circumstance had made her his wife.

_His wife._ Her mind would still jump at the thought that she was Mrs. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt. She wondered how Woody would take it if he knew she didn't want to give him back his name at the end of this case.

She would, of course. To keep it would simply perpetuate a dream that no longer existed. They had both been rudely awakened from that fairy tale…and she had been left empty and wanting. She drew her knees up to her chest and let her mind wander for a few minutes…thinking about what would have happened if she had taken that damn friendship ring he had offered her so long ago…or if he had believed her while he was in the hospital. Where would they be?

Would she really be his wife? She nearly chuckled at the prospect. And chuckled harder when she realized how hard it would be for Woody to believe that she had wanted to get married. _Had wanted_.

But not now. He had moved on…he was dating…and he had changed so much. Her naïve Wisconsin farm boy was gone forever….if he ever was really real to begin with. As the days after the shooting passed and more and more of Woody's history was brought to light, Jordan at first had feared that he would hurt himself….then she feared that he had lived a lie for so long that now he was in a hell-bent journey bound to find out the truth.

His truth.

Her truth was that she had loved him.

Still did.

But she couldn't handle being rejected by him again. She wasn't about to apologize for the time it took her to work through her issues…and God knows there had been far too many of them. And she wasn't apologizing for her feelings towards the detective.

She would admit her timing sucked.

However, did she deserve to be treated so backhandedly and coldly by him…No.

Jordan looked up at the stars one more time before going in. There were some beautiful spots in this Bluegrass state. And this front porch was one of them…

"There you are….I couldn't find you. I got a little scared." She heard Woody's voice come from somewhere out of the dark. "What are you doing out here?"

"Just admiring the view…" She felt the swing give as he sat down beside of her.

"It is pretty…" he admitted.

"In a 'Deliverance' sort of way," she joked.

Woody chuckled along with her. "Reminds me of Wisconsin, you know."

"Wide open spaces and cabins?"

"And stars you think you could reach out and touch. You know, my aunt and uncle….the ones that Cal and I lived with after Dad…died…had this huge, old farmhouse with a porch that was as long as the front of the house. In the summer, we'd make ice cream out there…Aunt Marge would shell butterbeans or we'd husk corn out there…"

"So you really are a Farm Boy."

Woody nodded. "As much as I'll ever be, anyway…."

"We had sort of a stoop…just a small set of steps that led to the sidewalk…and that's where we played as kids…on the sidewalk. Hopscotch…tag…rode our bikes…"

Woody smiled. He could imagine a pony-tailed, young Jordan in jeans and a t-shirt running wild, playing tag…until that child suddenly morphed into one with her chestnut curls and his blue eyes. He shook his head. Those thoughts needed to be banished immediately. Just like the ones of a honeymoon with her. It was not going to happen. There was now too much time and distance between them.

"Funny how we both grew up so differently…and still ended up here…together on this case…" he said.

"I know…who'd of thought that a cop from Wisconsin and a ME from Boston…"

"Would ever end up looking for a heroin murderer in Coldstream, Kentucky…" he turned to face her in the starlight. He couldn't see her features well, but he could feel the warmth from her body…

"Yeah…who'd of thought," she continued softly, her breath catching itself at his nearness.

"Yeah, who?" he asked as he gently ran his fingers down the side of her face. He was sure she would pull away…instead, her hand softly found his chest and she laid it there. With one quick look at her eyes…and seeing no resistance, he lifted her chin with his fingers and found her lips.


	9. All in the Family

**Chapter Nine**

**All in the Family**

Jordan was lost in the feeling of his lips against hers. She would never admit it to him…she was having a hard time admitting it to herself, but the minute their lips met, she forgot everything…where she was, what time it was…there was just Woody…

And as he gently nipped her lower lip to get her to open her mouth for him, she gave up even trying to find her way back to reality. She did what he asked and was instantly rewarded with an entirely new level of sensations…the feel of his tongue against hers…him deepening the kiss…pulling her closer…his thumbs tentatively resting at the base of her t-shirt…at the bare skin above the waistband of her pants.

She did the only thing she knew to do at the time. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on until Woody would let her come back to earth. Which he was apparently in no hurry to do. He kept kissing her…keeping her in that dizzying spot between the porch swing in Kentucky and somewhere out in the atmosphere where all her dreams and fantasies about him floated. She was suspended between time and reality…

Until the truth began to slowly dawn on her. This was Woody…the man who, although could be civil to her, had ruthlessly pushed her out of his life and was only needing her to help him solve this case so he could be moved back to homicide. _You're only here to help solve the case….Just do your job, Jordan…_ Garret's words began to haunt her as the cold, hard truth of reality began to grip her once more. She slowed down the kiss, finally breaking it completely.

Woody was breathing heavily, and rested his forehead against hers. "Who'd of thought…" he began again.

"That's just it, Woody. We can't think about this."

The look he gave her cut her to the quick. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…it's easy to get carried away out here in Coldstream. We're hundreds of miles away from Boston…and us…the real us. Here, in Kentucky, we're Mr. and Mrs. Hoyt. But once we're home, that will change. We'll go back to being Jordan and Woody…two people who may have at one time had a shot at a relationship, but chose instead to move on with their lives…without each other."

"Is that what you really think?"

"You're the one that made that decision. You're the one who told me to leave you alone…you didn't want me. You're the one that moved on first …"

"Like Danny has played no role in this decision."

Jordan looked at Woody for a half a beat. "I like Danny. He's a good friend. Do I think we could be more? Possibly. But unlike you, I haven't bedded anyone…yet."

Woody's sharp intake of breath let Jordan know she was in for it now. "So you'll sleep with him and not with me…"

"You never gave me that opportunity. When I decided that you were worth the risk of my heart breaking again, you had put me out of your life and were already seeing other women."

"So this…between us," he motioned with his hand, "means nothing…you felt nothing…"

God help her she couldn't lie to him. She should. She ought to lie to him, get up from that swing, go inside, and go to bed.

And catch the earliest flight out to Boston tomorrow she could find.

But Jordan was tired of lies. She had enough perpetuated in her own life to last a hundred years. She had never lied to Woody…not about their relationship. She wasn't about to start now. "I didn't say that…" she replied softly. "I never said I didn't feel anything…"

"So you're just blowing off a little leftover lust…"

"You kissed me, Farm Boy."

"And you didn't say 'no'."

She'd give him that. She had been a willing participant until her common sense took over. "I know….but I did stop it, too."

"Yeah, I know…just like you've always stopped everything else."

* * *

In the days that followed, they were barely civil to each other. They managed to pull things off at the sheriff's department as if nothing was wrong. But the minute they were back at the cabin and alone, the situation reverted back to the way it was when they were in Boston. Woody was cold and aloof. And angry. Very angry.

Jordan avoided him like the plague. This time she was the target of all his rage. She had responded to his advances and then cut him off. Cold.

She sighed as she evaluated the new state of their relationship…or rather lack of it … as she waited at the Louisville morgue for some results that Nigel was going to send her. She tried to stay away from Woody as much as possible now…even if it meant spending fruitless days in the Louisville morgue with nothing new really going on…

Did she regret kissing him? Yes and no. In the past, what few kisses they had experienced with each other had been nothing short of explosive. And now that she knew her heart that she loved him … for her they were now more than that…for her the affection was real…not just a beginning means to an end that amounted to one night of sexual satisfaction.

She had told Danny once that she no longer wanted "cheap, meaningless sex." And Jordan was afraid, given what Woody had told her in the past, that's all his kisses would lead to…cheap, meaningless sex and another broken heart.

And God knows she couldn't handle that again. She wasn't over the last time he broke her heart.

She had done the right thing…the best thing. But kissing him had only increased her ache for his touch…the need to be held by him…and it had put that need on a level that nearly frightened her. Scared her because she not only physically wanted him…she was very ready to surrender herself to him on whatever terms he dictated just to try to get rid of the ache in her soul….

_Sometimes doing what is best for you isn't always the easiest thing…sometimes it's the most painful_, Jordan admitted around the lump that was always seemed to be in her throat now…and was startled out of revere by her cell phone going off.

"Cavanaugh," she said, out of habit into the device. _So much for Mrs. Hoyt._

"Love…got those results for you…" Nigel's welcome voice reached across the miles.

"The Bass boot information?"

"Yeah. There were forty pairs of those shoes that were sold in the stores surrounding Coldstream. Only five of those were in a size fifteen."

"Well, that does narrow the playing field down some. Any of them on the list of suspects we sent you?"

"Nope…not a one."

"Oh." Jordan knew she sounded crestfallen and she didn't mean to. But she had worked so hard on this case…she wanted to catch the murderer and somehow gain Woody enough favor to move back to homicide. Not that the change would gain her anything…she would have the exquisite pain of seeing him everyday and knowing that he couldn't stand the sight of her … while she was ready to cave because all she wanted was his touch.

And that longing was so sharp that the accidental brush of his hand against hers this morning had caused her to startle almost violently…to the point where the coffee cup she had been holding shook and the liquid spilled out on her only pair of pajamas. She had to wash them out by hand and throw them over the shower curtain rod to dry, as the cabin had no washer or dryer and she had no time to go to the laundry mat.

"However, I did find out this interesting tidbit of information. One of the purchasers of said boots has a direct tie to Coldstream…." Nigel rambled on.

"And…"

"His name is Parker Lowell Thomas…"

"Judge Lowell Thomas's …grandson?"

"Nephew."


	10. You Are My Wife

**Chapter Ten**

**You Are My Wife**

Woody stared idly at his computer screen. He had begun checking his e-mail forty-five minutes ago…and he was still staring at an advertisement for a Bose wave sound system that he didn't want and certainly couldn't afford simply because his mind wasn't on his e-mail.

It wasn't even in the same room with him.

His mind was at the Louisville morgue with her…

Why had she turned him away the other night? Why had she cut him off so cold…when they could have spent an evening wrapped in each other's arms? He wouldn't have cared if they didn't make love…when he had decided that night that he was going to kiss her, all he was expecting was just that…her kisses. He knew he really had no right to expect even those…and he certainly wasn't hoping for anything more.

But like all the other near-misses and not-kisses in the past, she had bolted. Left him feeling empty….yet wanting more. To any other man, she might be labeled a tease. But for him, she was merely acting like Jordan. He shouldn't be surprised. He should be used to this by now…

Only he wasn't. Despite what he had told her about not wanting or needing her, he did. God help him, he did. In the worst way…not just physically, but emotionally. His world ran better when she was in it. His anger dissipated at her smile. His soul felt healed and cleansed at her touch.

And once again, she had danced out of his reach.

He knew why…he was very much aware of why she did what she did…him. His past actions. What he had said.

The way he broke her heart.

And she didn't want her heart broken again…so despite her apparent physical attraction for him, she had guarded her emotions carefully….too carefully. She wasn't going to risk getting hurt by him again.

She probably thought he was the biggest bastard to walk the earth… and there were days he would agree with her…like since the night she had pushed him away. He had been barely civil to her and looked for opportunities to goad her.

Jordan wouldn't bite at those opportunities. She simply turned away before she thought he saw the hurt in her eyes.

A sudden flash of lightening and a loud clap of thunder brought him out of thoughts. Reluctantly he began to shut his computer down….if it was storming, he didn't need to have it on. He closed the lid and began to put the laptop back in his brief case when there was another clap of thunder coupled with his door opening with a resounding bang.

There was Jordan, soaked to the skin. "Don't put that away just yet," she said, shaking off the raindrops that were clinging to her jacket and her hair.

"Why not?"

"I've got us a person of interest."

* * *

She was as good as her word. She had done more than point directly at the murderer; she had come up with particular evidence that would damn him other than the Diphasiatrum digitatum.

It seems that Judge Thomas and Ruth never had been able to have children. As a result, they had taken particular interest in their nieces and nephews, looking at them nearly as their own. And from early on in the young man's life, Judge Thomas had taken a particular interest in his name sake, Parker Lowell.

Parker was the second son of Judge Thomas's brother, Daniel. Daniel's oldest son, Charles, was following in his father's footsteps….becoming a doctor. But it was the second son, Parker, who gravitated towards law…and instantly became the favorite of his Uncle Lowell.

Uncle Lowell had seen to it that his ambitious, young nephew had gotten into the judge's alma mater, Harvard, to get his law degree. He had been there two years…reading and studying law…and getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. A crowd that used heroin more than just for recreational purposes. It was a group of young adults that was on the direct end of the production of the drug. But the Harvard campus and surrounding community was getting just a little small and too closely watched for their "business" venture.

Parker had always had access to his uncle's farm….Uncle Lowell would let him come and go as he pleased…after all, one day the farm would be Parker's. The way the Judge had it figured, Parker would complete his studies at Harvard, pass the bar exam, and come home to Kentucky. Oh, he might practice in Louisville for a while, but eventually…eventually, he'd join his uncle as a judge….and then finally, when the time was right, take over for him.

Only Parker was more ambitious than Judge Thomas realized. He didn't care a bit about the fame and prestige that came with the Judge's robes. All he cared about was the money. And heroin production brought quick cash in hand.

Parker knew his uncle's fifty acre spread well. It had numerous caves and shafts left over from Kentucky's hay days as a coal mining community…now completely vacant from any mining activity, but great places to hide heroin production.

And close enough to Parker's home enough in Louisville that he could oversee the manufacturing of the drug and get it shipped out without arousing suspicion. After all, he had come and gone at his uncle's house in Coldstream pretty much as he pleased since he was a young teenager. Parker's on again, off again presence caused no eyebrows to be raised…no one suspected anything.

So he moved the heroin production from an area outside of Harvard…to his uncle's farm in Coldstream…property which just happened to back up to the ball fields where the Diphasiatrum digitatum grew. It was safe….it was hidden….and it was prosperous.

And grew even more prosperous when "higher ups" in the drug families asked him to cut certain heroin shipments with Strychnine to teach some of their nonpaying dealers a lesson.

Woody listened to Jordan carefully. Then picking up the phone, he called John Sanders and requested a warrant to search Judge Thomas's farm, even though it was still pouring rain Ten hours later, Woody had the satisfaction of cuffing Parker Lowell Thomas and reading him his rights. He watched as John loaded Parker into the sheriff's car to take him away to county lock-up. He felt sorry for the Thomas's who had obviously invested a great deal of time and money in this boy…without getting anything in return. He mused for a moment that this must be how love is sometimes…you give yourself completely to another person and then get back nothing in return.

And when he turned and saw Jordan behind him, that reasoning became personified. "Let's go," he said to her curtly. "This is over…done. We can fly back to Boston tomorrow. Right now, I'm cold and wet and worried how both are going to affect my back."

* * *

They both were silent during the drive back to the cabin. Not once did Woody compliment her on the work she did to break the case. Not once did he thank her for possibly scoring him a big enough case that homicide would welcome him with open arms.

Not once did he say he was sorry about the other night.

The silence grew even louder when they let themselves in the cabin and he paused for a moment at the foot of the stairs. "I'm going to bed," he announced, as if that fact was important to her. "I'm cold and wet…and need sleep. We'll catch the first flight out for Boston tomorrow. I believe it leaves at ten. Good night, Jordan." And with that, he went upstairs.

_Well, thank you, too…_Jordan thought. _That bastard…._

But she had kept her word to Garret…and to herself. She had done her job. She had helped him solve the case….and now she was going home. She hadn't really mended her relationship with him in anyway. She had hoped … that they could come out of this situation as friends again.

She had held out a little hope they could be something more than friends.

That wasn't going to happen.

Suddenly aware that she herself was just as cold and wet as Woody, she pushed her thoughts of him and them aside and went into the bathroom to take a hot shower….washing away the thoughts of the day…feeling the warmth hit her toes and work its way upwards….warming her…the spray making her skin tingle. She washed her hair, gave it a final rinse and pushed back the shower curtain.

Only to have her sole pair of pajamas that she washed earlier that day fall off the curtain rod and plop down into the bath tub, becoming soaking wet yet again. _Damn…this is so not my day…_ After rummaging through her suitcase and finding nothing suitable to sleep in, she went to the closet and found a clean sheet to at least wrap herself up in for the night. God knows she wasn't going to sleep nude in the same house with Woody. He already despised her….to hear any comment he might make about her state of dress or undress would just add a little more hurt to her already over burdened heart. She tucked one end of the sheet between her breasts and tried to settle down for the night.

Only her thoughts of him made sleep more elusive than usual.

Sighing, she sat down on one of the window seats to gaze at the cold, dark Kentucky landscape. _Cold and dark_, she thought…_just like my heart feels…cold and aching…aching for him. Damn myself, after everything he's put me through, I still want him…I still love him._

_I still want to be Mrs. Hoyt. I don't want to give him back his name…_Indeed, despite the fact that the first time she had been introduced as Mrs. Hoyt, she had nearly crawled out of her skin, it didn't take her long to get used to being called that or Dr. Hoyt. After a few days, she relished it…and had no trouble responding to her name change.

Jordan pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She'd have to…give him his name back and his ring. That was the agreement. That was what he wanted.

And in the end she was sure it was the best thing.

She just knew it wasn't what _she_ wanted. She held out her left hand and looked at the plain gold band that encircled her ring finger. She hadn't taken it off since Woody put it on her finger ten days ago. With tears streaming down her face, she realized she needed to get used to living without it.

Just like she'd have to living without him again.

* * *

.Woody heard her moving restlessly downstairs. She obviously couldn't sleep. _Which is good, because I can't either…and it's her fault_. He was frustrated with her. Yes, damn it, he would admit part of it was sexual frustration….but another part of it was the aggravation of knowing that despite how much they obviously missed each other, she didn't want to move any closer to him than she already was.

And he knew whose fault that was….his. Given their past…everything he had done and said, Jordan either felt like their relationship was no longer worth her effort or simply believed it was doomed from the start.

He hated that….that she refused to try…even worse was that she refused to let herself _want_ to try. Woody sighed and rolled to his side.

He thought that she had enjoyed the charade of being his wife as much as he had enjoyed her playing the part….watching her readily answer to Mrs. Hoyt. The feeling of pride he had in her when she had cracked the case today. No doubt they were quite a team…unstoppable. _I at least need to try to salvage a friendship…something out of this …odd situation._ _Tonight is our last night together…I need to talk to her._ Grabbing his robe, he tied it around him and quietly descended the stairs.

He paused to look at her a minute, sitting in front of the window, her knees to her chest, so lost in thought that she didn't hear him until he came and sat down behind her on the window seat. She jumped when his hand lightly touched her back. "Sorry…didn't mean to startle you….you can't sleep either?"

Jordan knew better than to try to reply….she was still crying and knew her voice would give her away. At least they weren't facing each other…Swallowing the rest of her tears and composing herself as much as she could, she replied, "Not really….I'm just enjoying the view….I'm really going to miss this when we get back to Boston….all the beautiful scenery…"

"Naturist…" he chided gently, remembering Bug's malapropism from years ago.

Jordan evidently remembered, too. She chuckled softly. "Naturalist…" she corrected.

Glad to see that the ice may have been broken between them, Woody reached for her shoulders with both hands….and was shocked when his fingers touched bare skin. Jordan sensed his surprise. _I bet I've offended him…I bet he thinks I'm dressed this way to tease him or something…he'll really want nothing to do with me now…_

"Sorry," she said, giving him a quick backward glance over her shoulder when his hands didn't stay there. "I'm honestly not trying to tease you…or seduce you…it's just that my pajamas fell in the shower and they're soaked…"

"It's okay, Jordan.."

"I'll go to bed and let you enjoy the view for awhile…." She began to push away from him when she felt his hands close around her shoulders and pull her back against him.

"It's okay, Jordan," Woody murmured in the darkness. "After all….you are my wife…"


	11. Sweet Surrender

**Chapter Eleven**

**Sweet Surrender**

Jordan choked back a sob at Woody´s stated truth. She was his wife…for now. But within the next 48 hours that would change. She would become the ex-Mrs. Hoyt. Woody's first wife. In time their "marriage" would become a memory…something to laugh over…maybe even a memory to forget, only pulling that remembrance out on the rare occasion when he would possibly run across two pair of stray gold wedding bands at the bottom of a drawer in his dresser. In time, she was sure that even the rings would disappear…he'd move somewhere with his second wife and either forget them or fling them in some trashcan to avoid his new wife asking any questions.

Woody heard her sharp intake of breath at his admission, and felt the unintended shiver that ran up her spine at the word "wife." He hadn't been a totally unfeeling bastard. He had noticed her glances at him today…the looks she gave him when she was sure he wasn't paying any attention to her. The fact that Jordan had seemingly enjoyed pretending to be his wife didn't escape him, either. Taking deep breath, he decided to see just how reluctant she was to end the charade. "You know," he began. "It's funny. I never imagined spending my honeymoon like this … in a place called Coldstream, Kentucky," meaning for his voice to be light. He was surprised when he heard his voice take on a huskier note than he wanted..

"Me, either," she responded, holding her left hand out in front of her…looking at her plain, gold ring again.

"I always figured I'd honeymoon somewhere where it's warm and sandy…"

"With cabana boys to bring you margaritas and towels…"

Woody chuckled at the vision of Jordan stretched out on a towel on some hot, sandy beach somewhere…in a barely-there bikini…Until the vision pulled him up short…what if she wasn't with him on that beach? Lowering his voice, he pushed the charade on.

"Yeah," he whispered in her ear, gently brushing her hair off one shoulder, pulling it all to the other side, allowing him unbridled access to that side of her. "and I can rub oil on my wife," he began a slow trail of kisses along her neck, "or just hold her…" He wrapped both arms around her from behind.

Jordan's body went on automatic response as the tingles from his kisses and the feel of his tongue on her skin began to work its magic on her again. She unconsciously tilted her head back to allow him better access, praying he wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"Or…" he whispered again in her ear.

"Or what? she whispered back, rapidly losing her breath and all sense of her surroundings.

"Or this…" His hand slipped inside the sheet she had wrapped around herself, tracing small circles on her ribs…working their way up until he was cupping her breasts. Jordan reached up and pulled his face to hers, kissing him and moaning softly against his lips. Encouraged, Woody slowly trailed one hand down her taunt abdomen until he found her…Jordan felt herself arch against his hand….felt him increase the intensity of their kisses….and after a moment's hesitation, Woody gently began caressing her there until she climaxed and he heard her soft sigh of sweet surrender. . and her eyelids flickered down.

"Look at me, Jordan," he whispered to her again in her ear. Jordan slowly opened her eyes, not sure what to expect…would his eyes hold the laughter of two lovers getting to know each other, or the hostility of someone who just got one over on her? She held her breath.

The answer was neither. Woody's eyes shown with intensity she had never seen before. .a burning blue…Jordan felt her voice catch in her throat all over again. "Woody?" his name came out as a breathless question.

His response was to pull her completely in his lap, nearly cradling her, and kiss her again…and again. As if he was trying to kiss away any of her doubts or second thoughts…any of her fears.

All of the past.

And it was working. Jordan couldn't keep a coherent thought in her head as long as he continued to hold her and work his magic on her. His hand returned to inside of her sheet, intent on knowing her body as well he knew his own. When he slipped a finger inside of her and felt her arch and then tighten around it, Woody knew that he was rapidly losing control of the situation. If things progressed any further on that window seat, he didn't know if he could stop if Jordan suddenly decided to say, "No."

He wasn't sure if she would even be able to stop.

And God knows, while he was ready to make her his wife in every sense of the word, he wanted her to be cognitively aware of what was going on…not caught up in the heat of the moment.

And her responses and moans were telling him that she was at the same place he was…reluctantly he pulled his hands out from under her sheet and began to softly run his hands down the outside of it…still touching her through the thin, cool, cotton fabric, but slowing things down considerably.

"Woody?" she asked again, this time her voice and her eyes registering confusion…and a bit of the hurt he had seen in them far too often.

"You know where this is leading, Jo…" he whispered.

She nodded. "I know…"

"We can stop now…go back to our separate beds…"

"And not sleep for the rest of the night?" she questioned, moving restlessly on his lap.

"Jo…be still. Please. Or…"

"We can take it upstairs…" her voice held a note of finality to it…like she had been considering this for a long time…far longer than she had let on to him.

"Only if you want it…"

Jordan bit her lip. She wanted it…and him…had for a long time. The question was, did he want her? "Do you want it, too?" she asked, lowering her eyes.

The chuckle that ran through his body shook him and her both. Raising her chin with one free hand, he leveled her eyes up to his. "I think that's kind of obvious…." he replied with a smile. Then turning serious, he continued. "I just want you to be sure…"

"I'm sure…" Then registering the look he gave her, she continued. "I am…if I wasn't, I'd have been off this window seat minutes ago."

Woody nodded. That was true…if Jordan hadn't wanted him…his touch, his kisses, she would have told him in no uncertain terms and he would have been banished upstairs a long time ago. Tightening his hold on her, he stood to his feet. "Then what are we waiting for? We've wasted too much time for too many years…."


	12. I Do

**Chapter Twelve**

**I Do**

They overslept the next morning. Badly.

After spending the night wrapped in each others arms…when they finally did go to sleep, they slept soundly…so soundly that Woody's cell phone alarm went unheard, unheeded, and unanswered. Instead, he woke suddenly around ten and nearly had to drag Jordan out of bed in order to make their plane at noon.

Two hours…two hours left alone in that cabin and not one word was said about the previous night. There was an unvoiced awkwardness in their movements…the furtive looks they would give each other when they thought the other wasn't looking.

But no words of endearment…passion…love….

_He must regret it, after all, _thought Jordan as they sat on the plane together, flying back to Boston. Back to their jobs. Back to their old lives. Woody was dozing in his seat, still not having uttered one word to her about last night.

Last night. Jordan closed her eyes are relived the memory. Woody had carried her upstairs, ignoring her protests about hurting his back. He had slowly let her slide to her feet in front of him once he got in the bedroom and had kicked the door closed.

Then he had reached for her again, kissing her until the room spun. Jordan had no idea that just the simple act of _kissing_ could make her head turn like a top. And when he knew she couldn't string two coherent thoughts together, he had just as slowly reached for the end of the sheet that had been tucked between her breasts and pulled it free, letting the material fall in a soft puddle at her feet.

The cold air in the room had made her gasp at first. But the look in his eyes had warmed her. He had pulled her closer, kissed her again, and then tugged her to the bed.

Jordan had no second thoughts…no urge to run…Her thoughts had only been of him…and loving him. She wrapped her arms around him in surrender and urged him on …and just when she thought it couldn't get any better, it did. She found her body responding in ways to Woody that she had never dreamed of.

Until finally sleep had claimed both of them.

And then the cold, gray, light of dawn brought on a rushed effort to get back to Boston. Jordan sighed as she looked at the sleeping detective beside her. They were still married…legally and in everyway now. She was wondering if he had thought of that when the air steward came on the intercom and announced they were landing in Boston.

* * *

Woody pushed the curtains aside and looked out the window of his apartment as he took a long sip of the Scotch that was in his glass. He had done it. He had solved the case – determined who had poisoned the heroin and why. Arrests had been made. Justice prevailed.

He let the curtain fall back down over the window. He really wasn't watching the landscape anyway. He was thinking about the other ramifications of this case.

He had made Jordan his wife. In every sense of the word. Several times, if his memory served him correctly. God knows, his body remembered…it was already responding to the thought of her warm body wrapped around his…her soft sighs…the feel of her lips…

But somehow, the things he had wanted to tell her afterwards just got caught in his throat. He was blaming it on the fact that they had overslept. The rush for the plane. The exhaustion that he gave into on the flight.

Then the chaos at both of their offices once they got back. They had parted ways – he went to the nineteenth precinct and she was called into the morgue. He had slipped his wedding ring off in his pants pocket while at work, but found himself putting it on again once the day was over.

He remembered his confusion at the end of his shift when he went back out to his car and didn't know where to go…her apartment or back to his. After all, they were still married…but somehow, a "Honey, I'm home," statement just didn't sound right for them yet…They hadn't talked about last night. As a matter of fact, the last time they had really discussed the marriage was on the lawn of Antioch Church in Coldwater. It wasn't supposed to be permanent. It was just a temporary fix…to help his back.

So, he drove back to his apartment. And waited for a call from her that never came. He had tried her apartment, but only got the answering machine. Ditto for her cell phone. It went straight to voicemail.

_Tomorrow, _he vowed. _Tomorrow we're going to talk this thing over…and find out exactly where we're at…are we divorcing…or maybe, just maybe she wants to keep my ring and my name…_

* * *

Tomorrow didn't come for several days. Parker Lowell Thomas was extradited to Boston to stand trial for the five deaths in that city. In a plea bargain for his knowledge, he had ratted out several higher ups in the drug chain.

Woody had been kept busy with warrants, arrests, and all the paper trails that followed the aftermath of a drug sting.

And then homicide had welcomed him back with open arms. His life was back on track…back to where he wanted it….

Only a certain whiskey-eyed medical examiner was strangely absent. The few times he had chance the morgue, she hadn't been there. And he had been too chicken so far to try her apartment.

He was still wearing his wedding ring at home during the evenings. It stayed in his pocket during the day, where he could finger it…it was a tangible link to what they had. Once he was back at his apartment, he'd slip it on…look at it…and remember.

Finally the Thomas case slowed down a little…he made the transaction back to homicide…and simply couldn't stand it any longer. That Friday night, he drove to her Pearle Street apartment. He had checked…she wasn't on call.

* * *

A strident knocking on the door woke her up. It had been a hard week…one of the longest she could remember. She was making up for lost time at the morgue…and desperately trying to put her wedding ring in perspective. She was still Mrs. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt…but hadn't heard anything out of her husband all week.

Not that she was looking to. She was pretty sure he regretted what had happened between them…and was looking to get rid of her as soon as possible…

Her heart, which had never fully disengaged itself from him, was back at that precipitous place of breaking all over again. She didn't know how he would react if he knew how much she wanted to keep his name and his ring that she wore on a chain around her neck, underneath her shirt.

Now the banging on her door brought her out of her sleep and dreams of him…she had been dozing on the couch. "Woody?" she asked when she opened her door and saw him propped against the door frame.

"Hi…honey…I'm home?" he said, hoping to keep the atmosphere light until he could gauge her emotions.

A smile flitted across her face. "Have a hard day, dear?" she joked back.

"It was a hard week…" he replied pulling away from the door way to stand in front of her. "May I come in?"

"Sure." Jordan moved aside to let him through. Woody wandered inside and stopped at the end of her kitchen bar, turned, and faced her.

"I'm back in homicide," he said softly, his hands in his pockets. Somewhere along the day, he had left his suitcoat in his office and his tie was loose around his neck.

"Good for you. I'm so glad ….I know how badly you wanted it," she said, clasping her hands in front of her and smiling at him.

"Thanks…but I couldn't have done it without you, Jo."

She shook her head. "You had a pretty strong case without me, Farm Boy."

An awkward silence followed…both of them looking each other over, like wary prize fighters, both wanting to win but waiting for the first jab to be thrown at them. Finally it was Jordan who made the first move. "I called Kim's office Tuesday when we got in…"

"Kim?"

"My friend that's a lawyer…"

"Oh…"

"She's on vacation in St. Thomas. She won't be back for two weeks…I'll call her as soon as she gets back." Woody's still looked like he wasn't following her train of thought. "You know…a divorce…." she said softly and slowly.

"Yeah…a divorce….I guess that's the best thing…I mean we can't get an annulment now.."

"No …not since we slept together…"

"Even though only we know that we did …still…I guess we need to make sure it's all legal…" Woody continued.

Another awkward pause. Woody shifted his weight from foot to foot and Jordan carefully examined the patterns on her carpet. Finally she sighed and pulled the chain with the ring on it from around her neck. She unclasped the necklace and slid the ring off. "I guess you'll be wanting this back." She held the ring out. Woody finally took it in his outstretched hand. "I mean…you can't get your money back from Mrs. Thomas for the ring, but I guess you could pawn it…and I'll make up the difference. That's the only right thing to do," Jordan said, turning away from him so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

But he heard the catch in her voice. Jordan no more wanted out of this marriage than he did.

"You know what?" he finally asked.

_Oh please don't say you want me to keep the damn ring…I want it out of my sight…I don't need to remember something I was never meant to have in the first place…"_ she thought. Then was startled out of her thoughts when she felt Woody's fingers tighten around her wrist and turn her to him, opening her palm in the process.

"You know…" he said.

_God, no…_Jordan just knew his next words were going to be _just keep it…_She closed her eyes waiting on the impact.

"Put it on…"

Jordan opened her eyes wide and looked at him in disbelief.

"You heard me. Put it on. It's obvious that you want this marriage just as much as I do."

Jordan felt his arms encircle her waist…vaguely….far off from somewhere…she continued to hear him talk. "I've missed you more than I thought it was possible to miss anyone these past several days, Jordan. I guess what I'm trying to say is…I want you to keep on being my wife…that is…if you want to.."

"If I want to?" she asked, still not sure she heard right, but was glad her head was now resting on his chest.

"Yeah…" his voice rumbled low and even in her ear. "Do you want to, Jordan? Do you still want to be my wife?"

Looking up into his blue eyes, she whispered, "I do…" and felt Woody slip the ring back on her finger.

"Then what are we waiting on? We've wasted too much time for too many years…"


	13. For Better or Worse

**Chapter Thirteen**

**I honestly was going to let the story end with chapter twelve, until I had a barrage of e-mails and reviews that requested everyone's reaction to the marriage…and what happened afterwards.**

**So here it is…for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health…**

Jordan smiled as the plane leveled off, and glanced over at Woody, who still held her hand tightly. It was no secret she hated flying…and the worst parts were the take offs and the landings. She had a death grip on his hand until all was safe and the seatbelt warning light turned off.

"You okay now?" he asked, moving to put his arm around her.

"Fine until we land…and then I'll need your hand again."

Woody looked at his hand, still red from her grip. "Thank God that's at least another two hours…Maybe I'll have time to get over this before take off." He grinned ruefully at her, dimples in full view.

Jordan chuckled and leaned into his arm. "Are you sure about this?" she asked quietly.

"Sure. Nothing like going back to the scene of the 'crime' to finish up the details…" His grin widened.

"And what details do you have in mind, Mr. Hoyt?"

"I'm sure you know…all too well …. Mrs. Hoyt…."

Details….there were so many of them. Jordan's mind flew back to the night Woody had shown up at her apartment and offered her their marriage back. She had taken the ring and his name without a second thought or a look back.

Much less any regrets.

He had spent the night with her…and the rest of the weekend, although they seldom left her bedroom until late Sunday when Woody went back to his apartment to retrieve more clothes for work on Monday.

"That" Monday. The Monday they wore their wedding rings to work. Jordan couldn't help but grin at the memories. "Are we really up to this?" Woody had murmured against her lips that morning as they rode the elevator up to her office.

"You keep kissing me like that and we'll be up to more than just telling everyone we're married…" she had warned with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You ever done it in an elevator, Farm Boy?"

"There's a first time…" Woody never completed the sentence. The doors opened to the morgue and they both stepped out, Woody's arm around her waist. The first person they ran into was Nigel.

"Morning, Nige," Jordan casually greeted the Brit as she and Woody began to stroll toward her office.

"Morning …. you….two…." Nigel's voice trailed off. For two people who hadn't been getting along, those two sure looked cozy….too cozy…and Jordan had this glow… Nigel couldn't hide his confusion. "How …are ….things…?"

"Just fine…great, Nigel," Woody replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Ummm, yeah…." The criminalist disappeared behind the doors of trace, where Jordan and Woody heard him in an earnest conversation with Bug…..The last statement Jordan heard before Woody opened her office door and kissed her was, "Something's not right….odd…weird…, Bug."

"Nigel, it's Jordan….her moods vary with the weather…"

"No…look, mate…" Nigel urged Bug out the door of trace to catch Jordan and Woody in mid-kiss.

"What the hell?" Bug murmured.

Woody never faltered. He kissed Jordan thoroughly…and she responded in the most satisfactory matter. He was seriously thinking about calling in sick for himself and taking Jordan back home when he heard someone clear their throat.

"Yes?" Woody asked, releasing Jordan only to turn his head and look at the two doctors.

"Woody…uh…Jordan……uh…" Nigel for once couldn't find the words… "Is everything…all right? Are you two okay?"

"Everything is fine, guys. It is customary, even in Boston, for a husband to kiss his wife good-bye before they go to work…"

The word wife rang through the hall of the morgue.

And mass confusion followed. It took Jordan a full week to convince everyone that this wasn't a joke, it was real…even if they simply did it to help solve a case.

The precinct was even worse. Woody's fellow officers ribbed him horribly about Jordan going above and beyond her call of duty to help him with the heroin case.

"Jordan's helped me with a half a dozen cases and she's never volunteered to marry me," Seely teased.

Woody had grunted and hid out in his office until time to go home…when he walked back over to Jordan's office to get her. "What a day…"

"Don't I know it…let's never do that again…"

Woody spun her around and hugged her to him. "I don't intend to…I don't care if we got married just to help the heroin case get solved…I love you, Jordan Cavanaugh Hoyt, and I intend to spend the rest of my life with _you_."

And Jordan didn't argue. Over the days as people got used to the idea they were _really_ married and were _really_ serious about it, Woody mentioned that there was one very important aspect of the wedding they had forgotten.

A honeymoon.

A real one.

He floated the idea to Jordan a few weeks later…who promptly asked for some of her long-standing-five-years-worth of vacation time coming. Two weeks worth, as a matter of fact.

Now they were beginning it. First a flight to Louisville…then the short drive to Coldstream…and back to the Judge Thomas's cabin…for a few days. To revisit the scene of their "crime."

Then a flight out to Hawaii.

Jordan snuggled closer in Woody's arms, glad to feel them tighten around her. "Do you know what I was thinking the last time we flew into Louisville?"

"No…we were barely speaking then…"

"I know…you kept reading that damn file the entire time…I kept hoping that somehow, while we were out in the backwoods of Kentucky, we'd at least come home friends again."

Woody laced the fingers of their free hands together. "Guess you got more than you bargained for…"

Jordan laughed…a welcome sound in Woody's ears….it seemed over the past several months neither of them had laughed much. "I guess I did…a solved case and a husband…"


End file.
